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. 


























































































AUTHOR OF ‘ISHMAEL,’ ‘THE MOTHER-IN-LAW,’ ET 




PHIL ADEL PH I A : 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS. 



PRICE 50 CENTS. 



By Author of “That Lass o’ Lowrie’s.” 


“T H E O.” 


A LOVE STORY. 

BY MRS. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. 


From the New York Evening Post. 

“It is with no little pleasure that we find ‘Theo,’ by Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, 
to be an artistic as well as a thoroughly charming little love story. It is a less elaborate 
story than ‘ That Lass o’ Lowrie’s.’ and a much more transparent one in its plot ; but in 
its skilful portrayal of character, its subtle analysis of the effect of surroundings upon 
human action and human character, its deft and delicate handling of deeply stirred and 
conflicting emotions, and especially in its singularly apt presentation of the innermost 
secrets of a young and half-unconsciously loving woman’s soul, the story is altogether 
worthy to rank with it, as a piece of genuinely artistic, although by no means faultless, 
fiction. Less elaborate and less ambitious than * That Lass o’ Lowrie’s,’ it escapes the 
worst fault of that story ; in its end it leaves the reader with no uncomfortable feeling 
that the happiness secured is false and forced ; there is no doubtful future left in ‘ Theo,’ 
as there is in ‘That Lass o’ Lowrie’s’ for the reader to make himself uncomfortable about ; 
no essential inequality between hero and heroine to awaken fears of future misery to 
both ; no social gulf between them to be bridged by an improbable assumption. The 
story, as we have said, is a charming one, and, although slight, is worth reading for its 
art, even without reference to its interest. It has also the advantage and the merit of 
naturalness, and its incidents are the fruits of character rather than the results of acci- 
dent — a thing which more than anything else makes the difference between art and 
mere artisanship in story writing. There is much that is original as well as much that 
is fine in the contrasted portraits of Theo and Priscilla.” 

From tlxe Boston Post. 

“It is a pleasure to once more inhale the fragrance of a simple, but honest, healthy and 
clearly told romance. Mrs. Burnett’s ‘Theo ’is a direct natural °*' ’ r ve 

story. The characters act just as we should supposb 1 ^.„ain 

peculiar experiences would act. The harmonies are ^ere are no glaring 

inconsistencies to forgive. In this respect it posse 0 isual charm. The reader is 

interested without being able to tell why. Yet, iur all its simplicity and smoothness, 
there is not so much as the suggestion of dulness. The contrasts are strong without 
being forced, and the situations are dramatic without any apparent rehearsal therefor. 
‘ Theo ’ is one of the books that should be bought and read, and another point in its favor 
is that in size and shape it is very convenient reading.” 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 

Above Book is for sale by all Booksellers , or copies will be sent to 
any one , to any place , at once , post-paid , on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 



Hill Tragedy. 


7X6 


A IOYEL. 




AUTHOR OF 


“ISHMAEL,” “SELF-RAISED,” “ MOTHER-IN-LAW 


Listen ! and I will tell a fearful story / 

Since I remember aught about mysef, 

A strange heart-sickness almost like to death, 

A deep remorse for some unacted crime. 

For some impossible , nameless wickedness , 

IVas on m& — in its prophecy I lived. 

No wretched,? agg' d on to execution 

E'er felt 1; 'e horrid pangs tha7i then stirr’d up 


My spirit remorseful ago?iy . 

- •> 



PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 
306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


copyright: 

,SOI£T &c BR( 



1877. 



% 




4 


CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. NOIR ET BLANC 21 

II. MASTER AND SLAVE 32 

III. WAS THERE A WILL 41 

IV. A MOTHER’S WARNING 54 

V. A QUARREL 67 

VI. A NARROW ESCAPE 80 

VII. MAGNOLIA GROVE 90 

VIII. A CLOUDED HONEYMOON 102 

IX. SPECKS ON THE HORIZON 112 

X. A WIFE’S DISTRESSES.. 126 

XI. BROKEN PLEDGES 138 

XII. THREATENING 147 

XIII. USELESS ENTREATIES 159 

XIV. CHIVALRY 169 

XV. CONFESSIONS 185 

XVI. WHAT SHALL BE DONE V 197 

XVII. A TRAITOR 209 

XVIII. FALSE HOPES 219 

XIX. WILFUL MURDER 230 

XX. RETRIBUTION 244 

XXI. CHRISTMAS EVE 265 


( 19 ) 




































THE RED HILL TRAGEDY. 


A NOVEL. 

BY MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 


AUTHOR OF “ISHMAEL,” “ SELF-RAISED,” ETC. 


CHAPTER I. 


NOIR ET BLANC 


EAR the city of M , on the A river, 



ii prior to the rebellion, stood the plantation 
of Red Hill. It was one of the largest cotton 
plantations in the South, covering several square 
miles, but it was ill-cultivated and unprofitable. 

The plantation house was situated a mile back 
from the river, in a grove of trees on the brow of 
the hill, quite out of the reach of fog and miasma. 

At the time I speak of, it was owned by Colonel 


( 21 ) 


22 


NOIK ET BLANC. 


Waring, a widower, with one son, to whom he had 
given his mother s family name of Oswald. The 
ostensible female head of this house was the 
major’s own mother, Madame Waring, an old lady 
of French extraction, and now fallen deeply into 
the vale of years and infirmities. The real head 
was Phsedra, a female slave, and a Mestizo * by 
birth. Phaedra had one child, a boy, some two 
years younger than the heir of the family. Not- 
withstanding the want of a lady hostess at the 
head of the table, there was not a pleasanter or a 
more popular mansion in the State than Colonel 
Waring’s. Indeed, he might be said to have kept 
open house, for his dwelling was half the time 
filled with company, comprising old and young 
gentlemen, ladies, and children. 

Without any one habit of dissipation, Colonel 
Waring was a bon-vivant of the gayest order, who 
loved to play the host, forget care, and enjoy him- 

* The Mestizo is the offspring of a Spaniard or a white per- 
son and an American Indian, or Creole, 


NOIR ET BLANC. 


23 


self with his friends and neighbors. lie -was 
benevolent, also; no appeal to his heart was ever 
slighted. He was frequently in want of ready 
money, yet, when he had cash, it was as likely to 
be lavished in injudicious alms-giving, as expended 
upon his own debts or necessities. I have heard 
of his giving a thousand dollars to set up a poor 
widow in business, and at the same time put off 
his creditors, and go deeper into debt for his 
negroes’ winter clothing. In the times when the 
yellow fever desolated the South, his mansion 
year after year became the house of refuge to 
those who fled from the cities, yet were unable to 
bear the expense of a watering-place. His house 
was a place where the trammels of conventional- 
ism could, without offence, be cast off for a while. 
Children might do as they liked ; young people as 
they pleased ; and old folks might — dance , if they 
felt lively. “It was at Colonel Waring’s,” was 
sufficient explanation of any sort of eccentricity. 

Madame Waring, in her distant chamber, was 


24 


N0IR ET BLANC. 


not much more than a “myth,” or, at best, a 
family tradition ; yet her name undoubtedly gave 
a sanction to the presence of ladies in a house, 
which, without her, they would probably never 
have entered. 

The Mestizo was scarcely less of a myth. 
Everybody knew of her existence, and there were 
few who did not understand her position as well 
as that of the beautiful boy Valentine, who was 
the constant companion of Oswald; but Phaedra 
was never seen, nor was her presence to be 
guessed, except in the well-ordered house, and 
the delicious breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, 
prepared under her supervision, and sent up to the 
guests. 

Colonel Waring had his enemies. What man 
has not ? And even among those who at times 
sat at his board, and slept under his roof, it was 
said that “justice should go before generosity;” 
and that Colonel Waring, by his reckless charities 
and lavish hospitality, wronged both his creditors 


NOIR ET BLANC. 


25 


and his heir. Others whispered that he plunged 
into the excitements of company, for the purpose 
of drowning thought or conscience ; and if a 
stranger came into the neighborhood, and found 
himself, as he would be not unlikely to do, the 
guest of Colonel Waring, he would be told by 
some fellow-visitor that the late Mrs. Waring, the 
wife of the colonel, had died, raving mad, in a 
Northern lunatic asylum. 

And, among the women, it was whispered that 
in dying she had deeply cursed the Mestizo and 
her boy. 

However that might be, it is certain that Phaedra 
had always manifested the most sincere attachment 
to the lady’s son ; and from the time that Oswald 
was left an orphan, at the age of six months, to 
the time of her death, no one could be a more 
devoted nurse or a greater child-spoiler than she 
was to him. Phaedra’s nature was despotic, and 
every one on the plantation had to yield to Master 
Oswald, or they would find rations shortened, 


26 


NOIR ET BLANC. 


holidays refused, work increased, clothing neglected, 
and be punished in numerous indirect ways, not 
by their most indulgent of masters, but by the 
influence of the Mestizo. Even her own son was 
scarcely an exception to the universal homage she 
exacted for Oswald. He had two claims upon her 
- — in the first place, in her eyes he was the young 
master, the heir apparent, the Crown Prince — and 
then he had “ no mother.” 

And the boy, on his side, repaid his nurse’s 
devotion by the most sincere affection, both for 
her and for his foster brother, Valentine. 

Oswald “took after” his father, both in the 
Saxon fairness of his fresh complexion, flaxen 
hair, and lively blue eyes, and in the hearty 
benevolence and careless gayety of his disposition. 
Like his father, also, he lacked self-esteem, and 
the dignity of character that it gives. Nay, he 
had not half so much of that quality as had the 
son of the Mestizo, whose overweening pride won 
for him the name of “ Little Prince.” 


N 0 I R E T BLANC. 


27 


Valentine was an exquisitely beautiful boy; he 
was like his Mestizo mother, in the clear, dark- 
brown skin, and regular aquiline features; but, 
instead of her straight black locks, he had soft, 
shining, bluish-black hair, that fell in numerous 
spiral ringlets all around his neck, and when he 
stooped veiled his cheeks. In startling, yes, in 
absolutely frightful contrast to that dark skin and 
raven black hair and eye-brows, were his clear, 
light-blue, Saxon eyes ! One who understands 
scientifically, or feels intuitively, the nature of 
such a fearful combination of antagonistic and 
never to be harmonized elements of character, 
fated, without the saving grace of God, to become 
the elements of insanity and crime, cannot look 
upon its external outward signs without shud- 
dering. 

Think of it; and wonder, if you can, at any- 
thing in his after life ! Think of a boy combining 
in his own nature the ardent passions and im- 
pulsive temperament of the African negro, the 


28 


NOIR ET BLANC. 


tameless love of freedom of the North American 
Indian, and the intellectual power and domineer- 
ing pride of the Anglo-Saxon. Place him in the 
condition of a pet slave ; leave him without moral 
And Christian instruction ; alternately praise and 
pamper, or condemn and punish him — not as his 
ifierit, but as your caprice decides; let him grow 
up in that manner, and, as it seems to me, the 
result is so sure that it might be demonstrated in 
advance. 

Both the boys were great favorites with the 
visitors who frequented the house. Oswald, as the 
son of the host, and also for his bright, joyous, 
frolicsome nature; and Valentine, for his beauty, 
wit, and piquant sauciness. Willingly would 
Phaedra have kept the lad away from the “ white 
folks,” but Oswald would not suffer his playmate 
to be separated from himself. Nor when the 
visitors had once discovered Valentine’s value as 
an entertainer, would they have spared him. 

The lads did not seem in the least to under- 


NOIR ET BLANC. 


29 


stand their relations as young master and ser- 
vant, but behaved in all respects toward each 
other as peers — the quicker and more impulsive 
nature taking the lead as a matter of course. 
And that nature happened to belong to the Mes- 
tizo’s son. 

Valentine had the keenest appreciation of 
pleasure, and the quickest intelligence in discover- 
ing the way to it. In all their boyish amuse- 
ments, Valentine was the purveyor; in all their 
adventures, he was the leader — Oswald entering 
into all his plans, and following all his suggestions, 
with the heartiest good-will. And, in all their 
childish misdemeanors, he was the tempter, and 
always, also, the willing scapegoat — that is to say, 
when in a fit of generosity, to shield Oswald, he 
voluntarily assumed all the blame, he was per- 
fectly willing to take all the punishment ; but, on 
the contrary, if both were discovered in flagrante 
delicto, and he only punished, then, at such 
injustice, he would fly into the most ungovernable 


BO 


NOIE ET BLANC. 


fury, that would sometimes end in frenzy and con- 
gestion of the brain. It was these maniacal fits of 
passion that procured for him the sobriquet 
of Little Demon, conferred upon him by the 
negroes of the plantation, in opposition to that of 
Little Prince, given him by the visitors at the 
house. 

Often, too, the boy gave evidence of reflection 
and of feeling, beyond his years ; as, for instance, 
once, when he was but nine years old, a lady, who 
delighted in his childish beauty, grace, and wit, 
allowed him frequently to ride in the carriage with 
her, and accompany her, when making visits, or 
on going to places of amusement. One day, when 
she was gently stroking his silky curls, he sud- 
denly dropped his head into his hands and burst 
into tears. 

“Why, Valley! what is the matter?” she asked, 
again caressing his beautiful head. But, at the 
gentle caress and the gentle tone, he wept more pas- 
sionately than ever. “ Why, Valley ! what is the 


NOIR ET BLANC. 


31 


matter? Have I hurt your feelings ? Have any 
of us hurt your feelings?” she asked, knowing his 
sensitive nature, and imagining that some thought- 
lessness on her part, or on some one else’s, might 
have wounded it. “Have any of us hurt your 
feelings, Valley?” 

“Yes, you have! all of you have! and you do 
all the time ! ” 

The lady laughed, for it struck Tier as very droll 
to hear such a charge from the spoiled and petted 
boy. But the boy went on to speak with warmth 
and vehemence — 

“You all treat me like a little poodle dog, or 
like a monkey ; for you feed me, and you dress me 
up, and pet'me, and laugh at me, and by-and-by 
you will drive me out.” 


32 


MASTER AND SLAVE. 


CHAPTER II. 

MASTER AND SLAVE. 

T another time Valley was sitting in the 



11 parlor with a lady who had diverted her- 
self a good deal with his precocious wit and in- 
telligence, and had allowed him to play with the 
rings on her fingers, the bracelets on her wrists, 
and the pearls that bound her dark tresses, and 
then to follow her to the piano, and stand close 
by her side while she played and sang, until sud- 
denly down dropped his head upon his hands, and 
he burst into a passion of tears. The lady broke 
off in astonishment, turned around, drew him up 
to her, took his hands from his face, and looked 
kindly at him, without saying a word. But the boy 
dropped upon the floor, and crouching, wept more 
vehemently than before. The lady stooped and 
raised his head, and laid it on her lap, and laid 


MASTER AND SLAVE. 


33 


her hand soothingly upon his silken curls, but spoke 
no word. When his passion of tears had passed, 
and he had sobbed himself into something like 
composure, he looked up into her face, and said — 

“You did not laugh at me, Mrs. Hewitt, and 
you didn’t ask me what I was crying for ; but I 
couldn’t help it, because — because I know this 
good time will go away; and I shall get taller, 
and then you won’t let me stay and hear you 
talk, and hear you sing, and — and — and — I wish 
I never could grow any taller. I wish I may die 
before I grow older.” 

Ah ! poor, fated boy ! would indeed, that he 
had died before he grew taller ! before those evil 
days his childhood’s prophet heart foretold ! 

But they came on apace. 

The first trial that he suffered might seem light 
enough to an outside looker-on, but it was heavy 
enough to Valentine. When he was eleven years 
of age, and Oswald nine, Oswald was sent to 
school, and he remained at home. 

2 


34 


MASTER AND SLA YE. 


Up to this time they had been playmates and 
companions, faring alike in all respects, and 
sharing equally all pleasures, even the favors of 
the visitors. 

Now, therefore, Valentine keenly felt the new 
state of things, which in more than one way 
deeply grieved his heart; first, in the separation 
from his friend and playmate, whom he dearly 
loved ; and then in the denial of knowledge to his 
thirsting intellect, for there existed at the time a 
statute law against educating a slave — a law, too, 
that was strictly enforced, except in the case of 
children, who frequently transgressed it, and 
always with impunity ; for slaves were often 
taught to read and write by their nurslings, the 
master’s children. 

Valentine was thus far kin to us all, that he 
was a lineal descendant of Eve, and inherited all 
her longing desire for forbidden knowledge. And, 
in like manner, Oswald had received a goodly por- 
tion of that Adamic propensity to do just pre- 
cisely what he was commanded not to do. 


MASTER AND SLAVE. 


35 


No grief of Valentine could long be hid from 
Oswald, and it followed, of course, that when he 
discovered the great trouble of his playmate to be 
his desire for education, all that Oswald learned 
at school by day was taught to Valentine at home 
by night. And peace and good-will was once 
more restored to the boys. 

Thus the time went on till the lads were four- 
teen and sixteen respectively. 

Then Oswald was placed as a boarder at an 
academy in a neighboring city. Before leaving 
home, Oswald had begged, prayed, and insisted 
upon Valentine being permitted to accompany 
him, and had finally gained his object — an almost 
unheard-of indulgence — but one, nevertheless, 
that could not be refused by the father to his 
cherished son. So Valentine, ostensibly as a 
servant, but really as friend and companion, 
accompanied Oswald to his school. 

Here also Oswald took every opportunity to 
impart his acquired knowledge to his companion. 


36 


MASTER AND SLATE. 


And now Valentine’s taste in literature and art 
began to develop itself. His mind was by no 
means an “ omnium gatherem.” Belle-lettres, 
rather than classic lore or mathematical science, 
was his attraction. Astronomy, botany, poetry, 
rhetoric, oratory, elocution, music, painting, and 
the drama — these, and other studies only in propor- 
tion as they related to these, were his delights. 
An {esthetic rather than a strong intellect distin- 
guished him. A love of beauty, elegance, and 
refinement, in all things — in art, science, and the 
drama, as well as in his own person, dress and 
surroundings — began to reveal itself. And those 
who did not understand or like Valentine, began 
to sneer at him for a petit-maUre and a dandy. 

A change began to creep over the relations 
between the youths. Oswald was no longer a boy, 
but a young man. He could no longer instruct his 
companion, because he would thereby render him- 
self obnoxious to public opinion, as well as to the 
laws of the State, to which his age now made him 


MASTER AND SLAVE. 


37 


responsible. Neither could he bear the good- 
humored jests and the ridicule of his school-fellows, 
who bantered him unmercifully upon his friend- 
ship for his “ man,” calling them the foster- 
brothers, the Siamese twins, Valentine and Orson, 
etc.; and Valentine was beginning to suffer from 
the occasional slights, neglect, contempt, and in- 
equality in temper of his young master, when 
fortunately the scene changed. Oswald was with- 
drawn from the Academy of M , and sent to 

the University of Virginia, whither Valentine, as 
his valet, attended him.' 

Oswald Waring remained three years at the 
University of Virginia, and during the whole of 
that period he had not returned home once. The 
vacations had been spent at various Northern 
watering-places, to which he went, accompanied 
by his inseparable companion and valet, Valen- 
tine. His fellow-students at the university often 
warned him of what they called the reckless im- 
prudence of taking his slave with him to the 


38 


MASTER AND SLAVE. 


North, expressing their belief that one day the 
fellow would give him the slip. But Oswald 
laughed, in his reckless, confiding good humor, 
and declared, if the rascal could have the heart to 
leave him, he was perfectly welcome to do so, at 
the same time expressing his belief that the boy 
understood his true interests too well to do any- 
thing of the sort. But the fact was, that Valen- 
tine loved his master much too well to leave him 
lightly. 

Oswald Yfaring never distinguished himself at 
the university, or anywhere else, for anything but 
good nature, generosity, and reckless extravagance. 
He never graduated ; but at the close of his third 
year, being some months past his legal majority, 
he left the university finally, and went on a tour 
through the Northern States and Canada, before 
embarking for Europe. lie was accompanied, as 
usual, by Valentine. 

And the youth did not avail himself of that 
opportunity to leave his master, perhaps from the 


MASTER AND SLAVE. 


39 


fascination of their easy, careless, roving life, as 
well as the affection that bound them together. 

Mr. Waring had reached New York, on his re- 
turn from Canada, and was making a short stay 
in that city, previous to embarking for his Euro- 
pean travels, when he received a letter from his 
father’s attorney, Mr. Pettigrew, announcing the 
death of old Madame Waring, and the extreme 
illness of Colonel Waring, and pressing for the 
immediate return of his son. 

Mr. Waring lost no time in commencing his 
homeward journey, and attended by his favorite, 
as soon as possible, reached the city near to which 
was his father’s plantation. 

But there fatal news met him. He was too 
late. The virulent fever of that latitude had 
quickly done its work; and Colonel Waring’s 
funeral had taken place the week previous. As 
this result had been dreaded by Oswald, the shock 
of hearing of it lost half its force. There was 
nothing to do but to hasten to the plantation, to 


40 


MASTER AND SLAVE. 


examine into the confused condition of affairs 
there. Leaving a note for Mr. Pettigrew to meet 
him there the next day, Oswald took a carriage, 
and, with Valentine by his side, drove rapidly out 
to the plantation. They were met by Phsedra, 
who had been tacitly left in sole charge of the 
house, and who saluted her young master with 
grave respect, and greeted her long absent son 
with a silent pressure of the hand, deferring all 
expression of interest in or affection for Valentine 
until they should be alone together. 

The next morning Mr. Pettigrew arrived, and 
the examination of the condition of the estate of 
the deceased began. 

The lawyer expressed his opinion that there 
was no will of his late client in existence ; and, 
further, that none had ever been made by him. 


WAS THERE A WILL? 


41 


CHAPTER III. 

WAS THERE A WILL? 

OLONEL WARING was a hale, sanguine 



man, in the pi’ime of life, and not likely to 
entertain the thought of the contingency of his 
own death. And the fever that terminated his 
existence had been too sudden in its attack and 
delirium — insensibility and death had followed 
with too fatal rapidity, to admit of such a possi- 
bility as his executing his will. However, a 
search for a possible one was instituted ; the library, 
secretaries, bureau-, strong boxes — in fact, the 
whole house was ransacked for a will, or some 
memento of one; but neither will, nor sign of 
will, could be discovered. 

Perhaps the person most deeply interested in 
the search was Phaedra. As soon as her quick 
intelligence discovered that there was a doubt rela- 


42 


WAS THEBE A WILL? 


tive to the existence of a will, her interest became 
intense. When coining into the house to attend 
her young master or the lawyer, she paused, 
loitered near them; and, whenever she v r as allowed 
to do so, she assisted in the search with a zeal not 
equalled by either of the others. And when at 
last this search was abandoned as fruitless, she 
looked so unutterably wretched, as she hurried 
from the room, that both gentlemen gazed after 
her in astonishment. 

“Why, what is the matter with Phaedra ?” 
inquired Mr. Waring, looking interrogatively at 
the lawyer. 

“ She is disappointed, most probably.” 

“But in what respect? I do not understand.” 

“She was a favorite slave, was she not?” 

“Yes — that is to say, she was a very faithful 
servant to my late father, and was very well 
treated. But what has that to do with it?” 

“ Why, that she probably expected to be left 
free by your father’s will.” 


WAS THERE A WILL? 43 

“And that accounts for her anxiety that the will 
should be found.” 

“ I think so.” 

“ What a fool that woman must be ! Free 
indeed ! Why should she want to be free ? — at 
her age, too. What can be her object? What 
would she do if she were free ? How in the world 
came she to get such an idea into her head ? Who 
could have put it there, do you think?” 

“ No one, I suppose.” 

“ But how should she ever think of such non- 
sense as her freedom?” 

“ It is a notion they all have, I believe.” 

“A notion ! I should think it was a notion, and 
a very foolish one, on her part ; I am really half 
inclined to cure her of her folly by setting her free, 
and letting her try her freedom on, to see how it 
fits. Nothing but experience will teach ignorant 
creatures like herself.” 

“Fve noticed, in the course of my practice, a 
good many such instances of folly as hers.” 


44 


WAS TIIERE A WILL? 


“ They are, the best of them, dull and ungrate- 
ful. Now, I want to know if there are not hun- 
dreds of white women who would jump at such a 
situation as Phaedra’s?” 

“ Quite likely.” 

“ Why, where could the fool he better off, or 
freer, if that’s her whim ? She is mistress of the 
house — absolutely to all intents and purposes, mis- 
tress of the house. All the money for domestic 
expenses passes through her hands ; she carries the 
keys, governs the maids, and arranges everything 
to suit herself.” 

“And her master, too, let us hope, sir.” 

“ Yes, yes ; I do not complain of her good man- 
agement or her fidelity. In fact, I should be very 
unjust to do so, for she is everything that I could 
desire in these respects. And to render exact 
justice in this tribute, I may say that it would be 
difficult, and, more than that, it would be impos- 
sible, to replace her. It is these considerations, 
you see, that vex me so, when I hear of her hanker- 


WAS THERE A WILL? 45 

ing after her freedom. Freedom, from what, I 
should like to know? In what respect does her 
position now differ from that of any respectable 
white woman, filling the situation of house- 
keeper?” 

“ Really, I wish the conversation had not arisen. 
Certainly, Phaedra’s absurd notions were not of 
sufficient importance to occupy so much of our 
attention. Now, then, to business.” 

And the lawyer and the heir were soon deep in 
the papers and accounts, which they found in such 
hopeless confusion, that it promised many weeks, if 
not months, and perhaps years, of legal and finan- 
cial diplomacy to settle. 

Phaedra, when she had left the room in such a 
state of strange excitement, had hurried off in 
search of her son. 

Valentine was in his master’s chamber, sur- 
rounded by the trunks and boxes that had been 
sent after them from New York, and had but that 
day arrived. Half of them were opened and 


46 


WAS THERE A WILL? 


unpacked, and a part of their contents scattered 
all over the floor. They consisted of books, pic- 
tures, statuettes, vases, and other beautiful fancies, 
that Mr. Waring had collected in New York, du- 
ring the visits he had made there while residing at 
the University of Virginia. 

And in the midst of the picturesque and beau- 
tiful confusion, Valentine sat, reclining in an easy- 
chair, fascinated, spell-bound by an illustrated 
volume of Shakspeare’s plays. It was a new 
purchase of his master’s, made evidently without 
his knowledge, for it came in a box of books direct 
from the bookseller, and that was now unpacked 
for the first time. 

Valentine had taken the costly book from its 
double wrapper of coarse and of tissue paper, and 
merely meant to look at it before placing it in the 
bookcase; but that single look was fatal to his 
resolution for industry that morning, for he threw 
himself back in his master’s easy-chair, and was 
soon deep in the spells of the magic volume. 


WAS THERE A WILL? 


47 


Hour after hour passed, and there he sat, his 
body in his master s lounging chair, surrounded 
by the beautiful litter of books and pictures, 
statuettes and vases, flutes and eolian harps and 
other toys, and his spirit enchanted and carried 
captive by the master magician to attend the for- 
tunes of King Lear. The spirit-music, of which 
his ear was still conscious, came not from the 
eolian harp in the window, that vibrated to the 
touch of the breeze, but from some old minstrel 
harper at the court of King Lear ; and the per- 
fume that filled the room came not from the 
magnolias of the grove outside, but from rare 
English flowers tended by Cordelia, for his soul 
was not in America in the nineteenth century, 
but in ancient Britain in the age of poetry and 
fable. 

He was aroused from his day-dream by the 
entrance of Phaedra, in more excitement than he 
had ever seen her betray. 

Without a word spoken, she fell upon his neck, 


48 


WAS THEBE A WILL? 


and, clasping him closely, burst into tears ; then, 
quickly sinking down by his side, clasped his 
knees, dropped her head upon them, and wept 
convulsively. 

. Astonished and alarmed, Valentine tried to 
raise her, exclaiming, 

“ Mother ! what is the matter ? Mother ! why, 
mother! what ails you? what has happened ? ” - 

But she clung around his knees, and buried 
her face, and wept as she had never wept before. 

Using all his strength, the youth forcibly 
unclasped her arms, and got up, and raised 
her, and placed her in the chair that he had 
vacated. 

“ Now, mother, what is the matter ? ” he asked, 
bending affectionately over her. 

“ Oh, V alentine ! ” she said, as soon as she could 
speak for sobbing. “Oh, Valentine! after all, 
there is no will ! ” 

“ No will ! ” he repeated, in quiet perplexity, 
for he did not quite comprehend the cause of 


WAS THERE A WILL? 


49 


her excessive emotion. “ No will, did you say, 
mother ? ” 

“ No ! no ! no ! no ! ” she repeated, tearing her 
hair, “ there is no will ! although he promised — 
and I felt sure he’d keep his word — I never 
doubted it, because he was an honorable man, 
after his fashion — there was no will ! ” 

“Well, my dear mother, what of that, that it 
should distress you so ? ” 

“What of that? Oh, Yalley! Yalley! what a 
question ! ” 

“ Indeed, I do not know why you should take 
the non-existence of a will so much to heart, 
mother,” he said, soothingly. 

“ Oh, Valley ! V alley ! Master promised faith- 
fully that he would leave you free, and leave you 
money to take you to France, or to some other 
foreign country. And he broke his word to me ! 
Master broke his pledged word to me, who served 
his family so faithfully so many years. I didn’t 
ask for freedom for myself, only for you !” 

3 


50 


WAS THERE A WILL? 


“ Mother, don't take it to heart so ! don’t go on 
so, don’t.” 

“ Hush ! hush ! it is the Spanish woman’s curse 
falling on us ! — me ! She cursed me, dying.” 

“ My own dear mother, the curse recoiled 
upon her own head, for she died mad. It never 
reached you, who did not in any way deserve 
it. It was you that was wronged, not her, I am 
sure.” 

“ Yes, yes, it was I that was wronged ! It was 
I that was wronged ! I came to my master with 
his other property — with his land, and with his 
negroes. I had no mother, for my mother died 
when I was but seven years old. I was brought 
up by an old negro, named Dinah. I was but 
fourteen years old when I came into the possession 
of my master, along with his patrimony.” 

“ Don’t look upon things in that light, mother ; 
don’t talk in that wild, embittered way,” said 
Valentine, taking both her hands, and looking 
gently and fondly on her. But she snatched her 


WAS THERE A WILL? 


51 


hands away, and covered her face, and was silent 
for a while — then she spoke : 

“ I know it hurts you. I know it goes to your 
heart like a knife ; but it is true, true as — as that 
I might have been tempted to take your life and 
my own, had I seen how this was to end ! ” 

“ I am very glad you did not, mother, I am 
sure.” 

“Will you always say so?” 

“As I hope to be saved, yes, mother,” replied 
the youth, half smiling, to raise her spirits. 

“Ah, you think so now. Will you think so in 
the future ?” 

“ Yes, mother ! I will pledge you my word to 
think no other way forever, if that will satisfy 
you.” 

“Yet, oh, Valley! that Spanish woman’s dying 
curse ! It haunts me now upon this day of the 
fall of all my hopes for you ; it haunts me, it 
hangs over me like a funeral pall ! It oppresses 
and darkens all my soul ! ” 


WAS THERE A WILL? 


“ My dear mother, don’t be superstitious, if you 
do inherit a tendency in that direction from both 
sides of your ancestry. Forget that violent 
woman’s curse ; and whatever you do, don’t make 
it fulfil itself, by believing in it. And believe that 
if any evil befall us, it will not have come from 
that angry woman’s malediction. Why, if I 
thought that the imprecations of the angry and 
malignant could bring down curses from heaven 
upon the heads of the innocent, I should turn 
Pagan, and w r orship beasts. Besides, as I said 
before, it was not her , but you , who was injured. 
And if any one could have had the right to utter 
maledictions, it was you ; yet you never did it.” 

“ No, heaven forbid ! I took things as a matter 
of course ; and though my heart was almost 
broken, I made no complaint, far less ventured on 
any reproach; for I am sure I thought master 
would do no great wrong; and. I thought he acted 
much better than his neighbors, when he promised 
that you should be free, and should go to France, 


WAS THERE A WILL? 


53 


and learn a profession. But he broke that promise. 
Oh, he broke his pledged word and honor, and the 
woman’s curse is surely falling.” 

“ Think no more of that, mother ; she had no 
power to curse you.” 

“ I never did her harm, in deed, or word, or 
thought. I never deserved it from her , whatever 
I deserved from heaven. 


54 


a mother’s warning. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A mother’s warning’. 

^TT was the old Bible story of Abraham and 
I Sarah and Hagar acted over again on this 
plantation, only this was a great deal worse, as I 
look upon it now, though then I thought it was 
all right, hard as it was to bear. I had been 
keeping house for master four years, and you were 
nearly a year old, when one winter he went to 
New Orleans, to spend a month or two. He 
stayed the whole winter. I did not know that he 
married there, for he never wrote to tell me, and 
I never read a newspaper. How should either 
happen, when I could not read nor write? "Well, 
in the spring, instead of coming home, he sent a 
message with some directions to the overseer, but 
no word about his being married, only that he 
was going abroad for a while. Well, he went, 


a mother’s warning. 55 

and he stayed away for a year. And then he 
came home by way of New Orleans, where he 
stopped to buy furniture, that he sent up before 
him, in charge of an upholsterer, who was to fix 
it all up. But still no word of his marriage. I 
might have guessed something, from the refurnish- 
ing of the house ; but I did not, because my heart 
w T as so taken up with the thought that master 
was coming home, and how nice everything should 
be for him when he should come. I afterward 
knew that my master had written to Mr. Hewitt, 
to come over and tell me to prepare to meet my 
new mistress ; but Mr. Hewitt, for the sake of 
what he called the joke, left me in ignorance, so 
that madam might find me and you w r hen she 
should come. Well, I don’t want to talk any 
more about this. The afternoon that master was 
expected to arrive, I was on the v T atch. I was 
standing on the portico, holding you by the hand, 
when I saw the carriage approach. It came up 
very rapidly, and my heart beat thick and fast, as 


56 


a mother’s warning. 


if it would suffocate me. I could not help it, 
Valley! When the carriage stopped, my master 
got out first, and handed out a lady, and led her 
up the stairs. And while the whole scene was 
swimming before me, he said to the lady, 1 This is 
your maid, madame and to me, ‘ Phaedra, attend 
your mistress.’ I had no business to faint, I know, 
because I was only master’s poor housekeeper, and 
I might have expected this thing that had hap- 
pened ; but it came so suddenly, so unexpectedly, 
and my heart had been beating so high only the 
minute before, that I could not help it. One single 
glimpse of her great, black eyes, and the sight 
left mine, and I fell like a tree. You see this scar 
upon my forehead ; it was where my head struck 
the sharp edge of the stone step when I fell down. 
When I came to myself, I was in old Dinah’s 
cabin. You wdre there too. I was very stupid 
from the blow I had received in falling, and could 
not more than half understand old Dinah’s mum- 
bled consolations. And I was almost as stupid 


a mother’s warning. 


57 


the next morning, when my master paid me a 
visit, and stood there, and advised me not to be a 
fool, and asked me what I had expected — and told 
me that I had behaved very badly, very badly 
indeed ; that he had hoped I had had more sense, 
and more regard for his comfort ; but that I had 
acted abominably — I had spoiled his domestic 
peace for he did not know how long. That I had 
given madam such a shock on her first arrival, 
too, that he did not believe she could ever endure 
to look upon my face again; that she was in 
strong hysterics now; that I ought to have had 
more consideration for him, than to have brought 
him into so much trouble. But that women are a 
great curse, anyhow, with their abominable selfish- 
ness and jealousy — ” 

“ Stop, stop, mother ! ” gasped the boy, “ I shall 
go mad, if you tell me more.” 

She raised her eyes and looked at him, and 
grew frightened at his looks. His face was gray, 
and his features haggard, with the struggle in his 


58 


A mother’s warning. 


bosom. Ilis hand clutched his breast, as if to 
grapple with some hidden demon there. 

After a while, Phaedra resumed, softly and 
quietly — 

“ Hush ! he was not naturally cruel. I never 
knew him to do a cruel thing wantonly or know- 
ingly. But many people do not understand or 
make allowance for others who have naturally 
more tender hearts than theirs. He did not know 
how I felt — ” 

“ Mother! mother! for heavens sake ! ” 

“Dear Valley, let me go on and tell this story 
for the first and last time. I felt that I had to 
tell it some day; the day is come; let me finish — 
finish for my own justification, for I would be 
justified to you. Well, I never entered the lady’s 
presence again, of course, and , from that day to 
this , was only my master s faithful servant , and no 
more . As soon as I was able to travel, my master 
sent me with you into the town to hire out. I 
found a good place, where we lived several years. 


A mother’s warning. 


59 


I never even saw my master’s face all the time, 
hut strange reports went around, notwithstanding. 
People said that Colonel Waring and his lady 
lived very unhappily together; that they quar- 
relled very often ; that she was mad with jealousy 
of the Mestizo; that every time the colonel came 
in town, there would be a dreadful scene upon his 
return home. At last it is certain that my master 
left off visiting the city altogether, and did all his 
business there by deputies. But the lady’s attacks 
of passion or hysterics became periodical, return- 
ing at regular intervals, and in the course of the 
first year she became a confirmed lunatic. Before 
the end of the second year, it became necessary to 
put her under restraint. Finally, she was taken 
to a Northern lunatic asylum in the hope of cure, 
and there, at the end of a few months, she died 
raving mad, and hurling down imprecations upon 
me. It was generally reported then, as now, that 
jealousy had driven her mad ; but it was not 
true — Heaven knows that it was not true, any 


GO 


A MOTHER S WARNING. 


more than it was true that she had a just cause 
for her jealousy. For if ever I saw insanity in 
any creature, I saw it in her great staring eyes 
the first and only time I ever set mine upon her 
face. No; jealousy did not cause her madness; 
but her madness caused her jealousy ! ” 

Phaedra paused, and, with her head bent upon 
her hand, remained silent some moments; then 
she resumed : 

“ When that unfortunate lady had been dead 
some time, and one nurse after another had been 
intrusted with the care of her child, and had failed 
to give satisfaction, my year at last being up with 
my city employer, my master took me home, to 
mind Master Oswald. It was the first time I had 
seen the baby, although he had come home with 
his mother, and was in the carriage with his 
nurse at the very time that she first set her foot 
upon the threshold of her new home. Master 
Oswald was about two years old when I first took 
charge of him ; and if my heart had been ever so 


A mother’s warning. 61 

seared and hardened, it could not but have been 
touched at the sight of that motherless infant — 
so puny, neglected, and suffering, as he looked. 
Well, I took care of him — Heaven knows I did — 
excellent care of him, or he would not be living 
now. But he doesn’t remember that. How should 
he, indeed, when even his father did not remem- 
ber it, although many, many times, when he saw 
how his heir thrived under my care, he would 
praise me, and promise me such great things for 
my own poor boy. Well, I was sure he would 
keep his word. He has not done so ; and I could 
find it in my heart to pray for both your death 
and mine ! ” exclaimed Pha3dra, with a short, 
sudden sob, as if she were on the eve of another 
burst of violent emotion. 

“Do not grieve, mother; Mr. Waring has not 
done ill by us, I am sure. I have had as happy a 
life with him as my own nature will permit. I could 
not have borne life with a master less good-natured 
and tolerant. In truth, if our mutual relations 


62 


A mother’s "WARNING. 


had been reversed, I fear that I should not have 
been so uniformly kind as he. In fact, barring a 
little selfishness, where his habits and personal 
comforts are concerned, he is one of the very kind- 
est of men. You know how he has regarded us 
both, from his boyhood — ” 

“ Until he left home — he changed to us from 
that time.” 

“ Only for a while, when he was at school, and 
his classmates laughed at him for his attachment 
to me, and he grew angry and ashamed to show 
it; now he is his old self again. And, mother, 
there is but one obstacle to his realizing for us the 
hopes his father disappointed.” 

‘‘And what is that, Valentine ?” 

“His affection for us both, that has in it 
a certain alloy of selfishness, as, indeed, many 
other people’s affections for others also have. He 
loves us both, in a different way ; and he loves his 
own comforts in us. He would not like to lose his 
faithful, motherly housekeeper, or his confidential, 


A MOTHER’S 'WARNING. 


63 


attached valet ; or that either the one or the other 
should have the power to leave him at will. Ah, 
mother, I can understand Master Oswald better 
than any one else in the world can. I can read 
his heart like an open book ; and, moreover, I can 
in most things wind him around my finger like a 
string. Look at these things. Why do you sup- 
pose he collected them ? He doesn’t care for any- 
thing like this, but I delight in them, and so I 
persuaded him to collect them to adorn his rooms. 
I did not do so for my own gratification alone, but 
that I really did wish to see him cultivate a 
refined taste. Now, we are soon going to Europe. 
Why? Do you think he wished to go at first? 
No ; he never would have thought of it. It would 
have been a great deal too much trouble to take 
the lead in such a plan, but I thought he ought tq 
make the grand tour, like other young men of 
fortune; besides which, I had a desire to travel 
myself. So I persuaded him that a gentleman of 
fashion (as he desires to be thought, you know) 


64 A mother’s warning. 

ought to see Europe. So we go ! Why bless his 
easy, good-natured heart, I have such great power 
over him — may I never abuse it ! — that ninety- 
nine days out of a hundred it is I who am master!” 
“ But the hundredth day, Valentine ! ” 

The boy’s face suddenly changed. 

“ I had rather not think of that, mother,” he 
said, in an altered voice. 

Phaedra’s face also changed. It was as if a 
thunder-cloud had suddenly crossed the sun, and 
darkened all the room. The mother spoke first, 
and her voice was deep and hollow, as she said : 

“Valentine! Valentine! you have said that in 
ninety-nine days out of a hundred you can govern 
your master. Oh, my son ! pray God to give you 
grace on that hundredth day to yovern yourself ! ” 
“ Mother ! mother ! Why do you say that to 
me ? ” exclaimed the boy, with a shudder. 

“ I do not know why ; or, if I do, I dare not tell 
you. A heavy weight is on my heart ; I cannot 
shake it off. You are going away soon ; I must 


a mother’s warning. 65 

warn you now ; I may not have another chance, or 
may not feel able to do it. Oh, Valentine! learn 
self-control ; try to keep your temper always under. 
Ay ! seek the grace of God ; there is sueh a thing, 
though your poor mother has not got it, and only 
wishes she had. Seek it, Valentine — it is your 
best safety; imevery time of trial and temptation, 
it is a steadfast support. I know it, though I 
haven’t got it; I know it, because I have seen it in 
many others.” 

Valentine was looking at her with the most 
intent expression of countenance. 

“Anger is a short madness, is it not, mother ? 
So it was with me, at least, when I was a. boy; 
and how those frenzies of passion, into which I 
would be thrown, used to terrify me when I came 
to my senses ! I used to be haunted with a fear 
that in some such mad and blind fury, I might — ” 

“ Hush ! oh, hush ! Pray to God ! ” exclaimed 
Phaedra, turning pale. 

“Well, but of late years I have been able to 

4 


66 


A mother’s warning. 


control myself, and have also suffered less provo- 
cation.” 

“Ah, yes ; less provocation.” 

“Well, mother, I will promise you, faithfully, at 
least, to exercise habitual self-control. As for 
your other subject of anxiety, be at rest. Oswald 
Waring has his fits of generosity, in which even 
his sensual love of his own comforts is forgotten. 
And I shall take advantage of one of those moods 
to procure our manumission — not that I am sure I 
shall leave him, even after that is obtained.” 

All that is necessary to record of their conversa- 
tion ended here. In a few minutes after, Phsedra 
left the chamber to attend to her domestic affairs. 

In the course of a few weeks, Mr. Waring 
hurried the completion of all the business to 
which his personal attention was indispensable; 
and then, attended by Valentine, he set out for his 
European travels, leaving the further settlement 
of his estate in the hands of Mr. Pettigrew. 


A quarrel. 


67 


CHAPTER V. 


A QUARREL 


FTER an absence of fifteen months, Oswald 



_OL Waring and his inseparable companion, 
Valentine, returned home. 

Not in all respects was the master or the man 
improved by travel, as circumstances soon demon- 
strated. 

Mr. Waring brought back the same benevolent, 
careless, mirthful, yet occasionally arrogant tem- 
per, that had always distinguished him ; and u 
Valentine, the same affectionate, aspiring, quick, 
inflammable nature, that made his conduct so 
uncertain. 

The character of Oswald might have been easily 
read in his personal appearance. He was a rather 
handsome specimen of a pure Anglo-Saxon; he was 
of medium height, of a stout and well-set form ; 


63 


A QUARREL. 


with a round head, smooth, white, receding fore- 
head, shaded with thickly clustering curls of 
auburn hair; prominent, clear, light-blue eyes, 
whose prevailing expression was that of frank 
mirthfulness; a straight nose; a well-curved, but 
rather sensual mouth; and a full, rounded chin, 
that, altogether, made up a countenance whose 
chief characteristics were good nature, sensuality, 
and gayety His dress was equally remarkable 
for the costliness of its material, and the negligence 
of its arrangement; and left the point at issue, 
whether the costume were the more extravagant 
or the more slovenly. His manners were marked 
by habitual cheerfulness, good temper, and love of 
merriment. And, though he rarely emitted a flash 
of wit, he was ever the quickest to appreciate that 
gift in others ; and it must have been a dull jest, 
indeed, that his ready laugh did not hail. And it 
is not unlikely that to his sincere, hearty, conta- 
gious laughter, he owed a great deal of his popu- 
larity among men, and women too. For who does 
not love a good laugher ? 


A QUARREL. 


69 


Valentine was in almost every respect the anti- 
podes of his master, yet resembled him in this, that 
his nature also might be easily read in his dark but 
singularly beautiful face. I use the term “ beau- 
tiful , ” instead of the other term “handsome,” 
advisedly, as more proper to the subject under 
description. Valentine was rather below the 
medium height, and slightly but elegantly formed, 
with a stately little head, delicate aquiline features, 
a complexion dark as a Spaniard’s, bluish-black hair 
falling in many well-trained curls around the dark 
face, and light-blue eyes so deeply veiled under 
their thicket of long close lashes, that it was only 
in moments of excitement, when they suddenly 
lightened, that their strange, startling, almost 
terrible contrast to the blackness of the hair and 
darkness of the skin could be noticed. In the 
matter of dress, Valentine was fastidious to a 
degree. In other circumstances, he might have 
been an exquisite and a petit maitre , as his master 
often laughingly called him. As it was, the youth 


70 


A QUARREL. 


was undeniably a dandy ; but his love of dress was 
to be attributed fully as much to his innate love 
of order, beauty, and propriety, as to his coxcombry. 
His fine raven-black hair — his “ favorite vanity,” 
was carefully kept, and trained to fall in those 
faultless ringlets ; and it is upon record, that when 
the owner was not in full dress, that “ splendid 
head of hair” was carefully bound down from 
injury by sun or dust, under a double silk ban- 
danna, arranged in the graceful folds and twists of 
a Turkish turban. Valentine’s “foppery” was a 
never-failing source of merriment to his fun-loving 
master — though I think the boy’s love of dress 
could scarcely with fairness be called foppery, since 
he was never known to try the effects of his most 
elegant toilet upon the hearts of any of the young 
girls of his class, until his own heart was seriously 
engaged. Valentine’s deportment was character- 
ized by habitual pensiveness and reserve, occasion- 
ally broken by sudden unaccountable fits of excite- 
ment, strange flights of fancy, and startling, fright- 


A QUARREL. 


71 


ful paroxysms of passion, having many of the 
features of incipient insanity. These were un- 
doubtedly to be attributed to the antagonistic con- 
stituents of his nature. What alchemy but the 
all-powerful grace of God could ever harmonize 
the discordant elements of a being deriving his 
descent from three races so different as the Indian, 
the negro, and the Saxon, and reconcile him to the 
position in which this boy was placed ? 

Mr. Waring, soon after his return home, began 
to lead a wild, reckless life. He kept bachelor’s 
hall at Red Hill, in extravagant style. 

Frequent dinners, suppers, and wine parties, 
with cards, billiards, dice, etc., converted the 
quiet old country house into a scene of wild mid- 
night orgies, with drinking, song-singing, and 
gambling, that threatened soon to leave the young 
spendthrift without a house to revel in, or a 
dollar to revel on. 

And almost every day, when there was not a 
party at the house, Valentine would have to drive 


A QUARREL. 


72 

his master in the buggy to the town. Upon such 
occasions, the master would go to some favorite 
restaurant or billiard saloon, or perhaps to some 
wine or card party, to which he had been invited, 
while the man would take the buggy to the livery 
stable, and lounge about town until the small 
hours of the morning, when he would rouse the 
sleepy groom at the stables, get his buggy and 
horse, and take his master home. Sometimes 
Mr. Waring would be slightly elevated by the 
wine he had drank, but never to the degree of 
intoxication. 

At first, and for a long while, Valentine resisted 
the temptations of the life into which he was led ; 
but, in the course of time, those listless hours of 
waiting in town wore away his good habits ; and 
it at last happened that, while the master was 
gambling and drinking in some splendid saloon, 
the man would be imitating him in some humbler 
scene of dissipation. And when he would have 
to drive Mr. Waring home, it not unfrequently 


A QUARREL. 


73 


happened that both were under the influence of 
wine. 

To poor Phaedra, who happily had some time 
since found that grace of God that she had so 
long and humbly and earnestly desired, this con- 
duct in her young master and her son gave the 
greatest distress and anxiety. With Valentine 
she often and earnestly expostulated ; and the 
impressible boy, for boy he continued to be to the 
day of his death, would promise with tears in his 
eyes, to amend. Even with Oswald Waring, 
using the privilege of the old nurse, she ventured 
to reason, faithfully, fearlessly, sorrowfully. 

But, in his thoughtless, good-humored way, he 
laughed in her face, called her a well-meaning old 
woman, but advised her to attend to her own 
concerns. 

Yet Phaedra did not slacken in making what 
poor opposition she could to the approach of ruin. 

It was not the least deplorable and dangerous 
feature in the mutual relations of Oswald Waring 


74 


A QUARREL. 


and his favorite slave, that their mutual positions 
often seemed temporarily reversed. Valentine 
would, upon occasions, seem, or really for the 
hour be, the leader, and Oswald the follower. 

Unfortunately, Mr. Waring was singularly 
wanting in those qualities that command habitual 
respect from inferiors; nay, he even lacked self- 
respect, and the dignity that it gives ; while, 
more unhappily still, his servant Valentine pos- 
sessed a large share of self-esteem, that, in his 
excitable nature, would, under provocation or 
temptation, rise to insufferable insolence. 

And this frequently placed them in false and 
trying attitudes toward each other. It was a 
baleful circumstance, too, that when, under the 
effects of wine, the master fell from easy good- 
nature into maudlin tenderness and sentimen- 
tality, varied by eccentric impulses of domineering 
authority, all of which was extremely distasteful 
and irritating to the servant, whose pride, insti- 
gated by the like baleful spirit, would rise to an 


A QUARREL. 


75 


intolerable arrogance. It was a situation full of 
dire bodency to both. 

It happened one evening that Valentine had 
driven Mr. Waring into town to be present at a 
wine and card party. It was late at night, or, 
speaking more accurately, early in the morning, 
when they were returning home. It was difficult 
to say which of the two was most excited. Mr. 
Waring was in his most maudlin mood of famil- 
iarity, Valentine in his most insolent humor. 
Each perceived the intoxication of the other, 
without being conscious of his own state. Oswald 
broke out in a bacchanalian song, which he sung 
all wrong, and by snatches — occasionally, in a 
sudden fit of maudlin affection, varying the per- 
formance by throwing his arm around his servant, 
and hugging him closely. Valentine bore this 
once, but the second time it was repeated, he shook 
his master’s arm off, exclaiming, “ I am not one 
of your companions.” But Oswald laughed aloud, 
rolling himself from side to side, and breaking out 
into another low song — 


76 


A QUARREL. 


“ Life is all a wariorum, 

And we cares not how it goes ! ” 

“ You will frighten the horses presently. Can’t 
you behave yourself with common decency ? ” 
exclaimed Valentine, shaking off the hand that 
had been laid upon his shoulder. 

“ Let them talk about decorum, 

As has characters to lose,” 

sang the inebriate, chuckling and slapping the boy 
upon the back. 

“ If you do not be quiet, I’ll get out of this 
buggy, and leave you to drive home as you can,” 
said Valentine, impatiently. 

This seemed to amuse the other very much ; he 
burst out into a peal of laughter, falling back, and 
clasping his knees, and rolling with the tipsy 
enjoyment of the joke. When he had laughed 
himself into a fit of the hiccoughs, and hiccoughed 
himself into comparative calmness, he still seemed 
to enjoy the drollery of the idea, and recommenced 


A QUARREL. 


77 


laughing and singing by fits, and slapping Valen- 
tine upon the back. 

“ I tell you, if you do not quit this, I will get 
out ! ” exclaimed the boy, angrily. “ You a gen- 
tleman ! ” 

This language, instead of rousing Oswald to 
anger, seemed to strike him as the drollest of 
speeches, for he fell back into another peal of 
laughter ; and when he had recovered himself he 
began, not in displeasure, but in a maudlin, jesting 
way, and with a very thick utterance, to taunt 
Valentine : 

“Why, you ins’lent flow, do you know who 
you’re talking to ? You’re a spoiled negro — that 
is what you are ! Now, don’t you know, if I 
wa’nt the most forgivin’ flow in the world, that 
I’d have you tied up and whipt for such lan- 
guage?” 

“ Me ! ” 

It is utterly impossible to convey in words any 
idea of the fierce, savage, almost demoniac glare 


78 


A QUARREL. 


of hatred and defiance with which that single 
monosyllable was uttered. But it was lost upon 
the tipsy master, who replied, nodding and chuck- 
ling— 

“ Yes, you, my little fellow ! and I think it will 
have to be done, too, to bring you to a sense of 
your condition. Sit down, sir! What the devil 
do you mean by standing up and looking at me in 
that way ? ” 

Valentine had risen to his feet, still uncon- 
sciously holding the reins, but no longer guiding 
the horses, who went on their own way, while he 
stood and glared at his master, with an almost 
maniacal light blazing from those pale gray eyes. 

“ Sit down, sir, I say ! What do you mean ? Sit 
down, I say, or, by the Lord Harry, I’ll do as I’ve 
threatened ! ” 

This is not a proper scene to go on with. Both 
were mad with wine, and one also with rage. The 
master, though not angry, nor by any means dis- 
posed to punish, grew every moment, from very 


A QUAKREL. 


79 


•wantonness, more taunting in his manner — the 
man became each instant more insolent ; words 
rose higher between them; Valentine grew 
frensied, dashed his clenched fist with all his 
strength into his master’s face, and sprang from 
the buggy, leaving him to his fate. 


80 


A KABEOTT ESCAPE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A NARROW ESCAPE. 

ALENTINE awoke, the next morning, with 



V a heavy weight upon his heart, and a thick 
cloud over his brain. 

The first fact that attracted his attention was 
the circumstance that he was not in his own 
apartment, but in his mother’s bed-chamber. A 
small -wood fire was burning in the fire-place, 
and a tea-kettle was hanging over the blaze ; the 
red hearth was neat and bright, and the only win- 
dow was darkened by the lowered paper blind. 

Phaedra sat in her flag-bottomed elbow-chair, at 
the chimney corner ; her work was on her lap, but 
she sat with her hands clasped upon it in idleness, 
and in an attitude of deepest grief. Such was the 
picture immediately before him. 

He could not tell the hour, but supposed it to be 


A K ARROW ESCAPE. 


81 


near mid-day. He strove, through the aching of 
his head and heart, to recall the latest events of 
his waking consciousness, before he had fallen into 
the sleep or the insensibility from which he had 
just recovered. And, as memory came back in a 
rushing flood, bringing the hideous phantoms of 
the previous night’s history, overcome with shame 
and sorrow, he groaned aloud, and buried his face 
in the pillow. Still he was in ignorance of what 
had occurred after he had sprung from the buggy; 
and in terror for what might have happened to 
Mr. Waring, whom he had left there to guide as 
he could, in a state of extreme intoxication, the 
frightened and rearing horses. 

Phaedra arose, and approached the bed. 

“ Mother ! tell me what has happened, for I 
remember nothing after getting home,” said the 
boy, in a voice half-smothered in emotion. 

But Phaedra sank down by the bed-side, buried 
her face in the coverlid, and sobbed. 

“Mother! tell me the worst at once. Was he 

5 


82 


A NARROW ESCAPE. 


thrown out? Is he dead?” asked Valentine, in a 
deep, breathless, husky voice, as he raised upon 
his elbow, and leaned forward, his light eyes, from 
the tangled thicket of his dark hair, turning upon 
her like coals at a white heat. 

“ No, no, he is not dead. But it was a very 
narrow escape. Oh! Valley, such a good Provi- 
dence, my boy,” she said, taking his disengaged 
hand, and hugging it closely to her bosom, and 
weeping over it, as if that hand had been saved 
from some great calamity. 

> L “ Tell me all about it, mother.” 

But Phaedra was sobbing and choking, and could 
not utter a word more then. 

“Where is he now, mother?” asked Valentine, 
after a little while. 

“ In his room — unable to rise, hut out of danger, 
the doctor says.” 

A few more minutes passed in silence. Phaedra 
rose and resumed her chair and her needlework, 
though the sudden sobs and deep heavings of 


A NARROW ESCAPE. 


83 


her bosom betrayed the storm of grief still 
beating. 

“ Mother,” said V alentine, after a few moments 
longer, “ can you tell me now all about it ? How 
did I get home ? How did he ? What happened 
to the buggy ?” 

“ Oh, Y alentine, first of all, you came home in a 
state that made my heart sick to see. I can’t tell 
you how ; but I hope never to see the like again. 
I could not have got you up-stairs without help, 
but I managed to get you in here, and to bed, 
without any one seeing you.” 

“ Mother — ” 

This single word, uttered in a tone of deepest 
regret and humiliation ; and then his voice broke 
down, and he covered his face with his hands. 

“ I had not more than got you to bed, when a 
violent barking of the dogs startled me, and I went 
out, and found it was master that some of Mr. 
Hewitt’s negroes had brought home on a door. 
Dr. Carter, who was coming home from a night 


84 


A NARROW ESCAPE. 


call, had found him lying on the side of the road, 
that runs along by Mr. Hewitt’s cotton field. And 
he had ridden up to Mr. Hewitt’s house, and 
roused up the old gentleman and some of his 
negroes ; and they took a barn door off its hinges, 
and spread a bed and laid him on it, and brought 
him home. It was well that it happened to be 
Dr. Carter who found him ; for he stayed with him 
all night, and that has been the means of saving 
his life. Oh, Y alley, it was such a kind Provi- 
dence that saved him ! ” said Phgedra, breaking off 
suddenly and clasping her hands. 

“And this morning, mother?” said Valentine, 
anxiously. 

f,. “ Oh ! This morning the horses were found 
near the stables, with a part of the gearing hang- 
ing to their necks ; and the buggy was found on 
the road, broken all to pieces.” 

“I don’t mean them — I mean Mr. Waring.” 

“ He is out of danger this morning, as I told you 
before. He was stunned and very much bruised, 


A NARROW ESCAPE. 85 

by being thrown from the buggy, but not otherwise 
injured.” 

“ What does he say about the accident ?” 

“ He says he doesn’t know much about it. He 
says he supposes he must have been taking too 
much wine, and that the horses got unruly, and 
he couldn’t manage them ; and that was how they 
threw him out and broke the carriage.” 

“ Mother ! I must get up, and go to him now ! ” 
said Valentine, hastily. 

“ Oh, stop ! Stay one moment, Valentine ! Lay 
there, and let me speak to you ! I have been 
praying for you all night, in master’s room, here, 
wherever I have been. Reflect, have you no 
thanks to offer to the Lord for his providential 
care, when you so little deserved it? And no 
sorrow, Valentine, for what has passed, and no 
promises to make for the future? Oh, Valentine, 
how is this course, you and your master have 
begun, going to end?” 

“ Mother ! for my own part, I can affirm that 


86 


A NARROW ESCAPE. 


this is the first time I ever was in such a state as 
you saw me in last night. All I feel about it, shall 
be said in this one oath — I will never taste intoxi- 
cating drink again, so help me Heaven ; and shall 
be proved every day of my life, in the way I keep 
it!” exclaimed Valentine, impetuously, earnestly, 
tearfully. 

Phaedra grasped his hand once more, and hugged 
it to her heart; and prayed “God bless” him. 

“And now, mother, I must get up and go to 
him.” 

Phaedra brought his clothes from the closet in 
which she had put them, and then left the room, 
while Valentine arose and dressed himself, and 
went to his master’s apartments. It was in painful 
doubt and humiliating embarrassment that he 
sought Oswald Waring’s presence. He got to the 
door, knocked, and, at the words, “Come in,” he 
entered. 

Mr. Waring was in bed, and looking very pale 
and ghastly; and as Valentine saw him, a pang shot 


A NARROW ESCAPE. 


87 


through his heart at the thought that, but for the 
merciful intervention of Providence in averting the 
consequences of his own rash anger, Oswald Wa- 
ring might have been lying there — not a sick man, 
but a dead one ! And a secret vow to forsake 
intemperance, in all its forms, material and moral, 
was made in Valentine’s mind, and registered in 
heaven. 

“ Is that you, Valley, old fellow ? I had begun 
to fear that you had suffered more than myself, 
when I asked after you this morning, and they 
told me you were sick. Were you thrown out 
also?” 

‘‘Good heaven!” thought Valentine, as a new 
light burst upon him ; “ he does not recollect what 
happened. He must have been much further gone 
than myself” 

“ Well, old fellow, why don’t you answer me ? 
I asked you if you were thrown out. Don’t be 
afraid to tell me, for you see I’m a great deal bet- 
ter ; besides, seeing you there alive and well, I 


88 


A NARROW ESCAPE. 


shall not be much shocked to hear of what might 
have happened, you know. Come ! where were you 
pitched, and how much were you hurt, and who 
picked you up ? Tell me, for I can’t get the least 
satisfaction out of anybody here.” 

“ I was not thrown out — I sprang out.” 

“ When the horses were rearing ? A bad plan 
that, Val.; that is, if you really did it as you think 
you did. For my part, I doubt if you know any- 
thing more about it than I do myself; and if my 
soul were to have to answer for my memory, I 
could not tell whether I jumped out or was thrown 
out. Bad course we’ve been pursuing, old boy ; like 
to have cost us both our lives ; really has cost me 
that beautiful buggy, that is ruined, they tell me. 
Bad course; bad course, Yal. Not safe for master 
and man both to be glorious at the same time. 
Another evening, old fellow, do you try to keep 
sober, when you think it likely that I shall be — 
otherwise 

“ I never mean to touch another drop of intoxi- 


A NARROW ESCAPE. 


89 


eating drink as long as I live, sir, so help me 
Heaven ! ” said Valentine, fervently. 

“ Oh, pooh, pooh ! old fellow. Resolutions made 
with a bad headache, the day after a frolic, are as 
worthless as the oaths sworn in wine the night 
previous, both being the effects of an abnormal 
state of the soul and — stomach. Now, wine is a 
good thing in moderation — it is only a bad thing 
in excess. Don’t look so dreadfully downcast, old 
fellow, nor make such dismally lugubrious resolu- 
tions. ‘ The servant is not greater than his mas- 
ter,’ says the good Book ; and if I was overtaken, 
how could you expect to escape ? Give me your 
honest fist, old fellow; those who have had such 
a lucky escape together might shake hands upon it, 
I should think,” said Oswald Waring, offering his 
hand. 


90 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


CHAPTER VII. 

MAGNOLIA GROVE. 

ALENTINE took his hand and squeezed it, and 



V then, in the warmth of his affectionate nature, 
pressed it to his heart, while tears welled to his 
eyes — tears, that came at the thought how nearly 
he had occasioned the death of this man — this man 
who, with all his faults, had, from their boyhood, 
been ever kind, generous, forbearing — more like a 
brother than a master. All that was unjust and 
galling in their mutual relations was forgotten by 
Valentine at that moment; he only remembered 
that they had been playmates in childhood, com- 
panions in youth, and friends always, up to the 
present, and that he had narrowly escaped causing 
Oswald’s death ; and, in the ardor and vehemence 
of emotion, he pressed the hand that had been 
yielded up to him, to his heart, exclaiming, in a 
broken voice — 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


91 


“It was mj fault, Master Oswald, all my fault ! 
but I will never — never touch any sort of intoxi- 
cating liquor again — never as the Lord hears me.” 

“ Oh, tut, tut ! you best fellow that ever was in 
the world ! Who asks you for any such promises ? 
Only promise that when there is a wine supper or 
card party in the wind, or any other signs of the 
times in the sky to warn you, you will take care 
to keep sober, knowing that I shall be likely to be 
something else. Wine is a good servant, but a 
bad master.” 

“Not good for me, ever, Master Oswald; cer- 
tainly not good for me; probably not so for you, 
'either.” 

“Come, come; you exceed your license, Valen- 
tine. You re a pretty fellow to preach to me, after 
nearly breaking my neck. However, that’s ungen- 
erous, after once forgiving you; so we’ll say no 
more about it forever. But don’t preach to me, 
whatever you do. Phsedra nearly wears my 
patience out.” 


92 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


“ Can I do anything to make you more comfort- 
able, or to help the time along ? ” 

“N-o-o, I think not. Dr. Carter says I must 
keep quiet, and my head begins to ache now; so 
you had better darken the room, and leave me to 
rest.” ' 

Valentine closed all the shutters, and let down 
all the curtains, and then asked — 

“ Shan’t I sit here, Master Oswald, to be at hand 
in case you should want anything ? ” 

“ No ! Lord, no ! it must be a great bore to sit 
in a dark room, with no better amusement than to 
watch somebody going off to sleep. No ; go and 
take care of yourself, old fellow. I can ring, if I 
should want anything,” said Oswald, cheerfully. 

“Always so very considerate when he is in his 
right mind,” thought Valentine, as he took the 
tasselled end of the bell-fope and put it in reach 
of his master’s hand before leaving the room. 

That was the last time that Valentine saw his 
master in his right mind for many weeks. The 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


93 


effects of his fall, acting upon a system weakened 
and vitiated by dissipation, was much more serious 
than any one had foreseen. Before night, a brain 
fever, with delirium, had set in, and for days after 
the life of Oswald Waring hung upon the feeblest 
chance. For many weeks of his illness, Phaedra 
and Valentine nursed him with the most devoted 
affection. Poor Phaedra prayed constantly for his 
recovery, and also for his reform, and solicited 
every Sabbath the prayers of the congregation 
of her church in his behalf. And Valentine, in 
deep despair, daily accused himself of his master's 
death, as if he had purposely stricken a fatal 
blow, and Oswald were already dead. The long 
days and nights of watching by the side of the 
sick-bed, that might at any hour become a death- 
bed, were very fruitful in good to Valentine. 
There he learned to hate and dread the demon 
anger, that had caused him so much misery ; there 
he came to listen with patience and reverence to 
his poor mothers tearful pleadings and counsels ; 


94 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


there he began to pray. It was six weeks before 
Mr. Waring left his room, and one more before he 
was fully restored to health. And this brought 
midsummer, a season that camp-meetings were 
frequent in the neighborhood. 

This summer there was much greater excite- 
ment than ever before among the religious revi- 
valists. The Rev. Mr. M and several others, 

equally eloquent and successful field preachers, 
were making a circuit of the country. Their fame 
always preceded them as an avant courier, and 
crowds congregated to hear them. 

There was a camp-meeting held, by permission 
of the owner, in a magnolia grove where there 
was a fine spring, upon the grounds of Mr. Hewitt, 
Mr. W aring’s nearest neighbor. And it was given 
out that on Sunday morning the eloquent field 

preacher M would address the assembled 

multitudes. There was a great deal of excitement 
and anticipation among all classes in thht quiet 
rural district; and when the Sabbath came, con- 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


95 


gregations forsook their own churches, and assem- 
bled to hear M . Crowds after crowds gath- 

ered; some went with the avowed purpose of 
getting converted ; some to get revived ; many to 
get excited ; and most from motives of idle curios- 
ity. Poor Phaedra went for the candidly expressed 
purpose of being warmed and comforted. Valen- 
tine went to drive his master, who went only to 
kill a dull day. 

Now, not only was Phaedra praying ^vith all 
her soul’s strength for her son’s conversion, but 
naturally that desired consummation was one of 
the most likely things in the world to eventuate ; 
for Valentine’s nature was just the one to be most 
deeply affected and impressed by the magnetic 

power of a man like M , and he was also in 

the most favorable mood for receiving such im- 
pressions. And while hundreds around him were 
swayed, as by a mighty wizard’s wand, under the 
wonderful eloquence of the most potent preacher 
since the days of Wesley and Whitefield, Valen- 
tine was deeply and almost fearfully excited. 


96 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


And from that Sabbath, during the whole time 
of this preacher’s sojourn in the neighborhood, 
V alentine was a regular attendant upon his ministry, 
and in the end was numbered among his converts. 
This is not the place to call in question this preach- 
er’s sincerity or consistency as a Christian ; those 
who knew him best, believed him to be perfectly 
sincere in his religious enthusiasm, however incon- 
sistent was sometimes his conduct. And though 
it may be true that some of his converts were his 
only, and not God’s, as they afterwards demon- 
strated by their backsliding, yet it is equally true 
that many shining lights in the Christian Church 
at this time, ascribed their first awakening to Chris- 
tian life, under Divine Providence, to the electric 
power of his eloquence. He had succeeded in reviv- 
ing the religious spirit of that district; and when he 
departed, he left behind him many new but zealous 
laborers in that vineyard of the Lord. 

Among the most enthusiastic in the field of the 
colored mission of Magnolia Grove was Valentine. 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


97 


His sincere, ardent, earnest soul ; his natural gift 
of eloquence ; his .sympathy with those in his own 
condition, if not strictly of his own race ; liis 
better education, and even his beauty of person, 
grace of manner, and sweetness of voice, all com- 
bined to make him the most popular and effective, 
and best beloved of all the class-leaders in the 
colored mission of Magnolia Grove. “ Brother 
Valentine’s” class was the largest and most impor- 
tant in the church. If ever brother Valentine 
was announced to address the meeting upon any 
given day, there was sure to be a crowded house. 
And if ever Phaedra held a prayer meeting in her 
quarter, there was sure to be a crowd to hear 
Brother Valentine speak. 

Among the most zealous of the church members, 
and among those who never failed to be present at 
Phaedra’s weekly prayer meetings, was a young 
and pretty quadroon named Fannie. She was a 
free girl and an orphan, and was employed as 
shop girl in a hair dresser’s and fancy store kept 
6 


98 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


by a respectable old French couple in the city near 
by. But though her home and her business was in 
town, and there were also two or three “ colored 
missions” in that place, yet Fannie preferred to 
walk out every Sunday morning to the little log 
meeting-house in Magnolia Grove. And tho e 
who were envious of Fannie’s beauty did not 
scruple to say that she came out so far for the 
sake of hearing brother Valentine pray or exhort, 
or to let him hear her sing ; for F annie had a voice 
that might have made her fortune, had she been 
white, and had it been cultivated. However that 
might be, Phaedra loved Fannie as if she had been 
her own daughter, and she always took her home 
from meeting, to dine and spend the afternoon at 
Red Hill. And after an early tea, Valentine 
always walked home with Fannie to the city. 

It is also true that Valentine became a frequent 
customer at Leroux’s, the hair-dresser’s and fancy 
store where Fannie was employed; and as Valen- 
tine not only made his own but also his master’s 


MAGNOLIA GROYE. 


99 


purchases, and as he had a carte blanche for the 
same, his custom was of no trifling importance to 
the establishment. But valuable as was this 
patronage, as soon as the proprietors began to sus- 
pect the nature of the attraction to their store, 
they felt it to be their duty to warn the young 
girl, which they would do in something like these 
terms. 

“ Take my advice, Fannie, and send that young 
fellow about his business; he may be a very good 
young man, I dare say ; but he is a slave, and 
never will be able to do anything for you,” Mon- 
sieur Leroux would say. 

“You are free, Fannie; and you are very pretty, 
and all that; and you might look a great deal 
higher than that,” would say Madame Leroux. 

“ Think, ma fille , if you take him you will 
always have yourself and your family to support, 
for you never can have any help from a slave hus- 
band” — thus Monsieur Leroux. 

“ Consider, mon enfant , if you marry him, he 


100 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


may be sold away next year, or next month, even ! 
bow would you like that?” thus Madame Leroux. 

And Fannie would blush, or smile, or pout, or 
drop a tear, or say to herself - — 

“ Poor Valley ! May be something may happen 
to set him free ! May be I might work hard, and 
save money enough to ” — she could not bring her- 
self to say buy — “ ransom him ! And, anyhow, it 
is not his fault if he is not free. And it must be 
hard enough, the dear knows, to be as he is with- 
out my letting him think that it makes any differ- 
ence to me.” 

Obstacles and objections which, to cooler-hearted 
and clearer-headed people, would seem very for- 
midable, if not entirely conclusive, were but slight 
impediments in the way of these humble lovers. 

Long courtships and protracted engagements are 
not common among quadroons, and in this case 
were not favored by Valentine. He had won little 
Fannie’s heart and consent to speak to her employ- 
ers, who, having advised her against the match, 


MAGNOLIA GROVE. 


101 


and holding no authority to go further in their 
opposition, gave a reluctant consent, with their 
good wishes and blessing. 

Valentine had, all through the courtship, the 
hearty approbation of Phaedra ; and lastly, he had 
none but his master to consult. 


102 


A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 

lf R. WARING rallied Valentine unmercifully 
. .. f 3 upon his intended marriage; swore that, 
seriously, it was a pity such a fine young fellow as 
himself, who was such a favorite among the girls, 
should leave his gay bachelor’s life, to tie himself 
down to a wife and family; asked him what he 
should do for kid gloves and perfumery, if he had 
to give all his pocket money to Fannie and the 
children ; and finally made him a wedding present 
of a hundred dollars, and advised him to go out 
and hang himself. 

In the following Christmas holidays, the slaves’ 
annual saturnalia in the South, the marriage 
of Valentine and Fannie took place. A mad 
marriage it was, where the bride had no dower, 
and the bridegroom not even the ownership of his 


A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 


103 


own limbs to work for their support. An impos- 
sible marriage it would seem, had it not really 
taken place, and did we not know for a certainty, 
that such marriages between the free and the 
enslaved frequently took place. 

Phaedra gave a serious little Methodist wedding, 
and invited all her favorite brethren and sisters 
of the church to be present. And the young 
master loaned his dining-room for the occasion, 
and invited himself to do the lovers the honor of 
his personal attendance at the marriage ceremony. 
And he gave the little hride two testimonials of 
his friendly consideration — one in the form of 
a pretty wedding dress, that was gratefully 
received; the other in the guise of a hearty 
embrace and kiss, that was not quite so thankfully 
accepted. 

“But now, mommer,” whispered little Fannie, 
in the course of the evening, to Phaedra, “ V alley’s 
young master has been so very kind and generous 
to us all, s’pose now he was to make Valley a 


104 


A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 


present of his free papers for a wedding gift to- 
night — to surprise us, you know; to see how 
delighted we’d all be, and to hear what we’d say. 
I think he might; ’deed, I shouldn’t wonder if he 
did, only for the pleasure of the thing, you know. 
Should you, mommer ? ” 

Phaedra sighed ; but then, not to damp the girl’s 
spirits, she replied — “ he may do that some day, 
honey.” 

“ Something seems to whisper to me that he is 
thinking of it to-night, mommer ! Ah ! the Lord 
send he may! Wouldn’t we be happy? Valley 
would have a place in the same store with me ; it 
would suit him, too; he has so much good taste! 
and then we could have such a pretty little home 
of our own ! ’Deed, I believe he is thinking about 
it now. Look at him. I shouldn’t be the least 
surprised to see him call Valley aside, and clap 
him on the shoulder, and call him ‘old fellow/ 
and tell him he is a free man ! ” 

The girl had read aright the thoughts of the 


A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 


105 


master. Angels, who saw the future, with all the 
phantoms of its bright or dark possibilities — 
angels who loved the goodness latent in his own 
abused nature — angels were whispering to him, 
“ Make this young couple supremely happy — give 
him only the common right to himself, into which 
every creature is justly born — and then rejoice in 
tlieir exceeding great joy !” 

And never had the face of Oswald Waring 
looked so bright, benignant, and happy, as when 
he for a moment entertained this thought. 

“But, pshaw!” he said to himself, directly. 
“Am I Don Quixote the younger, that I should be 
guilty of such a piece of extravagant generosity? 
Absurd ! I really must begin to learn moderation 
at some time of my life. St. Paul says, * Let your 
moderation be known unto all men.’ ” 

Now, what on earth can the angels reply, when 
the other party quotes Scripture against them? 
Nothing, of course; and Oswald Waring had no 
more generous impulses that evening. But oh ! 


106 


A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 


if lie had only listened to those angel whispers ; 
if he had only realized poor little Fannie’s romance ; 
if he had only, for once in his life, yielded to his 
impulse to commit that mad, rash, extravagant 
piece of Quixotism, as he called the act which, for 
a moment, he had dreamed of performing — from 
what impending anguish, what temptations, 
crime, and remorse would they not have been 
redeemed ! 

It had been arranged, as the best plan for all 
parties, under present circumstances, that Fannie 
should retain her situation as shop-woman at 
Leroux’s hair-dressing and fancy store, where 
they were anxious to keep her as long as pos- 
sible. 

With Valentine’s hundred dollars, and fifty 
dollars that had been made in overwork by 

Phsedra, a room was taken in M , and neatly 

furnished. 

And there Valentine and Fannie went to house- 
keeping, after this fashion: Fannie, still tending 


A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 


107 


Leroux’s shop all day, ate and slept at home, 
where Valentine visited her once a week, or 
oftener, whenever he could do so. 

In the meantime, as the winter advanced, Mr. 
Waring s health was fully re-established; and, as 
many of his favorite boon companions, who had 
been absent on their summer tours, returned to 
the neighborhood, Oswald began to resume his 
former habits of extravagant and reckless 
dissipation. Deer-hunting, coursing, partridge- 
shooting, and other field sports, occupied the morn- 
ings ; and dinner-parties, oyster suppers, and other 
entertainments, accompanied and followed by wine- 
drinking, song-singing, card-playing, and similar 
orgies, at home or abroad, filled up the afternoons 
and evenings. 

Again were Valentine’s services brought into 
requisition, three or four nights of every week, to 
drive his master to the city at dusk , and home 
again at dawn. Upon these occasions, Valentine 
would drive Mr. Waring first to the club-house, 


108 


A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 


restaurant, or billiard-saloon, that happened to be 
his destination for the evening, set him down, take 
the carriage and horses to the livery-stable, leave 
them, and then go to Leroux’s, and stay with 
Fannie until the hour of closing the store arrived, 
when he would take her home. 

Valentine, from his “ gentlemanly ” appearance, 
dress, and address, as well as from his perfectly 
trustworthy character, was not an unwelcome 
visitor at the store, where, behind the counter, 
and by the side of Fannie, he made himself so 
useful, that Monsieur Leroux would often specu- 
late as to the possibility of getting him for an 
assistant. This also was Valentine’s and Fannie’s 
great ambition ; but it was a vain one, for his per- 
sonal attendance was considered indispensable to 
his master’s comfort. 

Valentine’s standing order, upon these occasions 
of their night visits to the town, was to be in wait- 
ing with the carriage for Mr. Waring at twelve 
o’clock. And the man was obliged to be punctual, 


A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 


100 


though he had often to wait two or three hours for 
the coming of the master. And, as a general fact, 
the longer Mr. Waring remained among his boon 
companions, the more intoxicated he became ; and 
when at last he appeared, all the old humiliations 
and provocations of Yalen tine’s former days were 
renewed. You know what these were. It would 
be vain repetition to describe them again. 

All this was, in every respect, very trying to 
the poor boy. He religiously adhered to his reso- 
lution of abstinence from all spirituous liquors, 
and constantly and prayerfully struggled against 
the ebullitions of his own impetuous temper. But 
the life he led acted nearly fatally upon a very 
fragile organization ; and all individuals of antago- 
nistically mixed races are known to be frail. The 
continued loss of rest, habitual irregularity in food 
and sleep, affectionate anxiety upon account of his 
master, tender solicitude for his own gentle little 
wife, frequent and excessive provocation from 
Oswald, all combined to wear and fret his origi- 


110 


A CLOUDED HONEY MO OK. 


nally excitable temperament to a state of unnatural 
nervous irritability, that could scarcely sustain 
with calmness the rudeness of the shocks to which, 
in his false position, he was constantly exposed ; 
and therefore he was very frequently — to use his 
own expression at the “love feasts” — in great 
danger of falling from grace. 

Reflecting upon this portion of the poor, doomed 
boy’s life ; recollecting the great, the almost super- 
human struggle his spirit was making against the 
terrible, combined powers of evil ; of his discordant 
organization; his fiery, impulsive temperament; 
his unfortunate education; his unhappy position, 
and his exasperating surroundings, all antagonistic, 
false and fateful — we find his parallel nowhere in 
modern times, and are forced to think of the age 
of antiquity, and of those mighty but ineffectual 
struggles of some fore-doomed mortal, like CEdipus, 
in the power of the angry Fates. 

Upon poor Valentine’s silent, deadly struggle, 
none but the pitying eye of our Father looked. 


A CLOUDED HONEYMOON. 


Ill 


And nothing but a miracle could have averted its 
final and fatal issue; and miracles are not wrought 
at the expense of moral free agency. There came 
at last a day — an awful day — when the boy 
spoke, and others heard, of that fell struggle with 
the powers of darkness. 

But we anticipate. The dark and trying seasons 
were .relieved by brighter ones, alternating like 
night and day. 

The hours spent with Fannie, either in the gay, 
lighted shop, among a thousand objects of taste 
and beauty, and occupations shared with her, and 
congenial to his own aesthetic fancy, or in their 
little home, that despite of poverty, Fannie’s taste 
had made beautiful, were seasons of unclouded 
happiness, in which all care was forgotten. 


112 SPECKS ON THE HORIZON 


CHAPTER IX. 


SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 

HERE were sunny hours, also, when Mr. 



JL Waring’s better nature was in the ascendant ; 
when he would feel like gratifying his own 
benevolence, and making Valentine happy, by 
fair promises of making him free ; of setting him 
and Fannie up in the hair-dressing and fancy 
business, which he would laughingly declare to 
be exactly suited to Valentine ; that Val. could 
be the barber, and Fan. the ladies’ hair-dresser; 
and that they could have a nice little house in an 
eligible street, with the dwelling above, and the 
shop below. Thus he would talk, indulging his 
good humor at the small expense of his breath, 
and amusing himself with noticing the effect of 
his words upon Valentine’s sensitive nature, play- 
ing upon its chords of hope and fear, as if his 


SPECKS ON TIIE HORIZON. 


113 


heart had been a harp, and his own the experi- 
menting hand that tried its strings. Perhaps he 
intended to realize, at some future day, these 
expectations that he raised ; at least, at the time 
of speaking, he wished to please the boy by infu- 
sing a hope; but, alas! he only disturbed him by 
exciting and aggravating his old passionate aspira- 
tion after liberty. 

But, besides those happiest hours spent with 
Fannie, there were other seasons of forgetfulness, 
and of almost unalloyed bliss. These were the 
Sabbath services and the weekly meetings, where 
the ardent, zealous soul of the young man found 
its expression in eloquence that reached the hearts 
of all who heard him, either in exhortation or in 
prayer. 

He was very much beloved by the brethren, 
and especially by the sisters, of the Magnolia 
Grove Mission. 

There were, however, two or three among the 
class-leaders who objected to Valentine, as being 

7 


114 SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 

too much given to the vanities of this world, and 
who found great stumbling blocks in Valley’s 
shining, black ringlets, and neat and even elegant 
dress. But as the fiend really did contrive to find 
his way into sinless Eden, so jealousy might pos- 
sibly have crept into a “love feast” among 
Christian brethren and sisters; and Valentine’s 
beauty, grace, eloquence, and consequent pre- 
eminence, among the men, and popularity with 
the women, might have been the true ground of 
offence to his less-gifted brothers. 

However that might be, Valentine, perceiving 
only the ostensible matter of complaint, half re- 
solved to give up his taste in dress, and sacrifice 
his cherished ringlets, and seriously consulted 
Fannie upon the subject. 

But Fannie would not listen to such a proposi- 
tion with a moment’s favor, and said that brother 
Potiphar and some of the others had such a 
grudge against beauty, that they would turn all 
the Lord’s fair roses and lilies into lobelia and 


SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 115 

rue, if they could. And Fannie’s single opinion 
and vote outweighed all the others, and Valen- 
tine’s liyperion curls continued to be an offence in 
Israel. 

Thus passed the winter and spring. This first 
half-year, with all its shadows, was yet the fairest 
portion of the young pair’s married life. Toward 
its close, clouds began to gather darkly and 
threateningly over their heads. 

In the early part of summer, Fannie was neces- 
sitated to give up her situation at Leroux’s, and 
confine herself to such work as she could perform 
in the privacy of her own room, such as fine sew- 
ing and fancy work, which was not very lucrative; 
but even this resource in the course of a few 
weeks had to be abandoned, for Fannie was 
unusually delicate, and sadly needed rest, and 
some one to take care of her for a while. And 
just about this time, late in July, Mr. Waring 
made up his mind to go to the North, and spend 
the remainder of the summer in a tour among 


11G SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 

the fashionable watering-places. Of course, he 
designed to take his servant with him. In vain 
Valentine, hoping in the proverbial “good nature” 
of his master, proffered his earnest request to be 
left behind, urging the state of Fannie’s health as 
the reason. 

“Pooh, pooh, nonsense!” Mr. Waring could 
not spare the servant that was used to his ways. 
Fannie must do without her husband, and take 
her chance, as all those of her class had to do. 
Surely she must have known what she had to 
expect when she married a slave man. 

“And now, Valentine, don’t bore me any 
longer with the subject. You were a great fool 
to get married at all ; and if you trouble me 
further, you will make me regret ever having 
given my consent to that foolish measure,” con- 
cluded Mr. Waring. 

Valentine controlled his own rebellious emo- 
tions, and leaving Fannie as comfortable as under 
the circumstances he could make her, accom- 
panied his master to the North. 


SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 


117 


They visited first the Virginia Springs, then 
Niagara, Saratoga, Nahant, and returning at the 
end of three months, reached home. 

In close attendance upon his master, Valentine 
was obliged to pass through M without stop- 

ping to see his wife. 

But the next day, at his first disengaged hour, 
he set out for the city, where he found Fannie, 
the mother of a little girl of six weeks of age, and 
reinstated in her former position at Leroux’s. 

Fannie was very happy, and gave a cheering 
account of all that had occurred. Everybody had 
been very kind to her ; the sisters of the church 
had visited her often ; Phaedra had been with her, 
and Madame Leroux had made her many 
presents. 

All this relieved and delighted the youthful 
husband and father ; and when he pressed his 
infant daughter to his bosom, he wept tears of joy 
at the thought that her mother’s heritage of 
freedom would be hers. 


118 SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 

Some peaceful days followed this, in which 
Valentine, oblivious of every cause of disquietude, 
enjoyed the perfection of domestic happiness. 

Then, early in November, Mr. Waring deter- 
mined to go to New Orleans, to prosecute his 
acquaintance with a young widow, a native and 
resident of that city, whom he had met at Sara- 
toga, and with whom he had been very much 
pleased. His servant was of course required to 
attend him, and upon this occasion Valentine 
obeyed, without a single demur. 

On reaching New Orleans, Mr. Waring took 
rooms at the St. Charles Hotel. Apparently his 
suit prospered, for their stay in that city was pro- 
longed through November and December. And 
Valentine had no opportunity of visiting his 
girlish wife until after the new year. 

Then Mr. Waring hastily, and in the highest 
spirits, returned home, to . settle up certain 
necessary business with his lawyer, appertaining 
to troublesome creditors, and give some commend- 


SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 


119 


able directions to liis housekeeper, touching the 
rearrangement of his disorderly bachelors hall. 
This occupied two or three weeks, during which 
time Valentine, when not in close attendance upon 
Mr. Waring, found opportunities to visit his 
beloved Fannie, and caress the infant, of whom he 
was dotingly fond. 

The first of February, Mr. Waring went again 
to New Orleans, to meet his engagement with 
Madame Moriere, his promised bride. 

Their marriage was arranged to take place im- 
mediately, to save the delay of the seven weeks 
of Lent, just at hand, and during which no strict 
Catholic, such as madame professed to be, would 
dare to enter into the “holy state” of matrimony. 

Immediately after the ceremony, the newly- 
married couple set out on a bridal tour. 

Mr. Waring was attended by his favorite ser- 
vant, and madame by her maid, a French gri- 
sette, who “made eyes” at Valentine, and other- 
wise harassed him with her coquetries, during the 


120 SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 

whole journey. And this conduct of Finette first 
suggested to Valentine’s mind the probability 
that, during his own enforced, long, and frequent 
absences from home, some one as unprincipled as 
Finette might be making love to his own pretty 
Fannie, unprotected and exposed as she was in 
that French hair-dressing establishment. Valen- 
tine might have been sure of that : but Fannie, 
with her wise and affectionate consideration for 
him, had never troubled the transient happiness 
of his sojourn with her, by any histories of the - 
petty vexations, that disturbed her own life during 
his absence. Besides, Fannie, with all her inno- 
cence, was city bred, full of experience and the 
wisdom it gives, and quite capable of taking care 
of herself. And Valentine never would have 
dreamed of the possibility of such annoyances for 
her, had not the behavior of Mademoiselle Finette 
made the suggestion. And now the thought gave 
his excitable heart a great deal of disturbance, 
and made him very anxious to return home. Of 


SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 


121 


course, Valentine’s impatience did not expediate 
that desired event. 

The bridal party were absent six weeks, and 
finally reached home about the middle of April — 
a most enchanting season in that climate, corres- 
ponding in its advanced state of vegetation with 
our June, but much more beautiful in the luxuri- 
ance and variety of its trees, shrubs, vines, fruits 
and flowers, than any season in our latitude. The 
Red Hill mansion was very lovely in its grove of 
magnolias. The internal arrangement of the house 
reflected great credit upon Phsedra ; and madame 
condescended to express much satisfaction with 
her new home and her good housekeeper. 

As upon all former occasions, Valentine had 
been in too much requisition, when they passed 

through M , on their way home, to stop and 

see Fannie; but the next morning Mr. Waring 
despatched him to the city, to attend to the careful 
packing and sending out some baggage that had 
been left, of necessity, the evening before, at the 
hotel. 


122 


SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 


And Valentine availed himself of that oppor- 
tunity to visit his small family. 

He found Fannie as pretty and as glad to see 
him as always, and his little darling Coralie, now 
seven months old, more beautiful and attractive 
than ever; but he could not linger with them 
long; his duties to his master obliged him, in less 
than an hour, to tear himself away again, and 
hasten with madame’s trunks and boxes to Red 
Hill. 

The necessity of leaving his treasures so soon 
again, after so long an absence, depressed Valen- 
tine so much, that Fannie hastened to console and 
cheer him. He was not, after all, more unfortu- 
nate in that respect, she said, than sailors and 
soldiers were, nor was she more to be pitied than 
their wives. 

And she sent him off, comforted with the prom- 
ise that she would get leave from Leroux, and 
come out the next morning with her baby to 
spend the day with Phaedra, at Red Hill. 


SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 


123 


Fannie kept her word, and, during her visit the 
next day, won her way so well into the good 
graces of madame, that that lady expressed a kind 
interest in her and her little child, made them 
some pretty presents, and promised to facilitate as 
much as possible the frequent visits of Valentine 
to his wife and child. And the lady remembered 
and performed her promise so well, that unusual 
indulgence was extended to Valentine, who was 
by her intercession enabled to pass every night 
with his family. 

Mr. Waring, in his attachment to his bride, 
seemed for the time quite won from the extrava- 
gance and dissipation of his late bachelor life. 
He remained at home, and addressed himself with 
commendable zeal to the management of his plan- 
tation, to the improvement of his land, his stock, 
his machinery, and agricultural system in general, 
and also, after his own blundering fashion, to 
the amelioration, comfort, and welfare, of his 
people. 


124 SPECKS OK THE HORIZON. 

Valentine, no longer distressed for or by his 
master, divided his attention between the mani- 
fold light duties that occupied, him all day at Red 
Hill, and the evenings spent in assisting Fannie 
in her business behind the counter of Leroux’s 
shop, and for which he now received a regular 
payment, in consideration of the fact that he stood 
at the post and performed the duties of Monsieur 
Leroux, whose age obliged him to leave the shop 
at an early hour of the evening, just as the custom 
was beginning to grow brisk. Thus they were 
enabled to add many little comforts to their hum- 
ble home, and also to lay up a trifle against the 
chance of darker days. 

Every alternate Sabbath they attended meeting 
together at Magnolia Grove, and afterward dined 
with Phsedra at Red Hill, and went home at 
night; and, on the intervening Sabbath, when 
there was no service at the Grove Mission, 
Phaedra would come into town, and go to 
church with the children at the Bethel (colored) 


SPECKS ON THE HORIZON. 125 


Mission of M , and afterward take dinner 

with them, before returning home in the 
evening. 

Thus passed the halcyon days of spring, pre- 
ceding the awful moral storm which ended in that 
“ household wreck.” 


126 


A wife’s distresses. 


CHAPTER X. 


A wife’s distresses. 


PRINC in the South is a season of the most 



kj/ enchanting beauty. Forests of odoriferous, 
blossoming trees, thickets of sweet-scented shrubs, 
and fields of fragrant wild flowers, fill the atmos- 
phere with their delicious perfume; climbing vines 
twine around the trees, and overgrow the fences, 
transforming them into arbors and to hedges of 
flowering plants of matchless bloom and fragrance ; 
while myriads of bright-winged birds enliven all 
the sunny air with their glad melody. It is a 
season and a scene no lover of nature could look 
upon without rapture. 

But the summer, with its advanced luxuriance 
of beauty, too often brings malaria, pestilence, and 
death. 

The promise of the spring to one in Valentine’s 


A wife's distresses. 


127 


condition had been too fair to last for any length 
of time. Clouds began to gather over his head. 
First, as Mr. Waring went no longer to town to 
spend his evenings, it followed as a matter of 
course that he frequently required Valentine’s 
services at that hour at home. On inquiring for 
his servant upon these occasions, and receiving 
the answer that Valentine had gone to town to 
see his wife, he would grow angry, and exclaim, 
with an oath — 

“I have never had any good of that boy since his 
foolish marriage. In town every night ! This thing 
is getting to be insufferable, and shall be stopped.” 

And one morning, when Valentine returned, 
Mr. Waring told him that he was not to take him- 
self off to see his wife every evening ; but that in 
future he must ask permission to do so. 

Now, anger was V alentine’s easily-besetting sin, 
the one dangerous internal foe he had constantly 
to combat. Now indignation rose and swelled in 
his bosom. And not from fear or from policy, but 


128 


A wife’s distresses. 


from Christian principle, he strove to quell its 
ragings. He answered only with a bow, and left 
the room for that silent, solitary struggle with 
himself that no eye but the Father’s ever wit- 
nessed. He obeyed the mandate ; it was galling, 
but he obeyed it; and each evening presented 
himself to his master with something like this 
style of request, which, as a compromise between 
asking a permission and intimating a purpose, was 
not so difficult to make — 

I have got through all my business here for 
to-day, sir, and am ready to go to town if you 
don’t want me.” 

“ Very well; take yourself off ; only be sure to 
come back early in the morning, to be ready when 
I rise,” would be the frequent answer. “The 
proud rascal ! I believe he would almost as leave 
die as ask leave to do anything; but it is my own 
fault; I have treated that boy like a brother, 
until he is so spoiled as to be quite above his con- 
dition,” Mr. Waring would add, half jesting, half 
in earnest. 


A wife’s distresses. 129 

But sometimes, when Valentine asked, leave 
would not be granted him ; and this occasioned an 
irregularity in his nightly attendance at the shop, 
that finally obliged Monsieur Leroux to say to 
him — 

“Valentine, my man, unless you can attend 
better, I shall have to discharge you altogether, 
and get a full clerk, which would be better any 
way, as he could be here all the time.” 

Full of trouble at this prospect, Valentine the 
next day mentioned this to his master, who, hap- 
pening to be in an ill humor, answered — 

“ What the fiend is all that to me, sir ? Old 
Leroux is liable to prosecution for hiring your 
services at all, without a permit.” 

“ But it was in over-hours — in my own time,” 
remonstrated Valentine. 

“Your own time! Pray, sir, what time is that ? 
I have yet to learn that you have any time of your 
own ! ” 

Valentine suppressed his indignation, but that 

8 


130 A wife’s distresses. 

was as much as he could do. He dared not trust 
himself to reply. 

“ Leave the room ! The sight of you irritates 
me. And be very thankful that I do not prose- 
cute your friend, old Leroux, with his mulatto 
clerks and shop girls ! These beasts of French- 
men have not the slightest idea of the distinctions 
of race.” 

Silently, Valentine left the room, to retire, and 
have another wrestle with his pride and anger. 

That evening he was not permitted to go to see 
Fannie; and, from that time, the permission to 
visit her was less and still less frequently granted. 

Finally, old Leroux, who had long delayed the 
step for poor Fannie’s sake, hired a clerk, and 
Valentine lost his over-hour situation, and with it 
many fair though humble hopes and prospects, 
lie was much depressed; but Fannie bade him do 
right, trust in God, and cheer up ; and said that 
she would probably get her own salary raised, and 
that they would get on very well. 


A. wife’s distresses. 131 

Now, whether his marriage had changed his 
feelings toward Valentine, or whether it was 
Valentine’s marriage that in time and effect grew 
displeasing to him, or whether both these causes 
combined to produce an estrangement between the 
master and the man, I know not; but certainly 
their mutual relations were changing for the worse. 
The master grew less considerate and indulgent, 
and more arrogant and exacting toward his poor 
servant; and that servant had a daily struggle 
with his own indignant sense of outraged manhood. 
Still, Fannie soothed him. 

“Govern your temper, dear Valley, and God 
will bless you. Never mind me and Coralie, we 
shall get along well enough ; and we can see each 
other Sunday at church, and Thursday at prayer- 
meeting, anyhow,” she would say, cheerfully. 

True, Fannie had her baby always with her, 
and that was a great comfort to the youthful wife 
and mother for the absence of her husband. They 
might have looked for some aid from the interces- 


132 


A wife’s distresses. 


si on of Mrs. W aring ; but alas ! for fair and false 
hopes, her romantic interest in little Fannie that 
had been but a frail spring blossom of her own 
happy bridehood, soon withered ; and, added to 
that, her influence with her husband had waned 
with her honeymoon. So, between her indiffer- 
ence and her inability, together with her ignorance 
of the facts — for Valentine seldom had sight or 
speech alone with his mistress, or, when he had, 
was too proud and reserved to complain; and 
Fannie, from native modesty, would rather endure 
than plead — little aid was to be expected from 
Mrs. Waring’s interference in behalf of the young 
couple. 

The gathering clouds of fate darkened and 
deepened over the head of the doomed boy. TTis 
little home in the city was visited with sickness. 

First, his little Coralie was taken ill. No father 
in this world, whatever his nature or degree might 
be, ever loved his infant with a more passionate 
attachment than poor Valentine felt toward his 


A wife’s DISTRESSES. 133 

little Coralie ; she was the darling of his heart and 
eyes, the light and joy of his present, and the 
hope of his future. It was for her own sake that 
he wished to save money — to educate her. Daily 
he thanked God that she was born free. 

Now, his bright beautiful Coralie was pining 
away under a complication of infant disorders. 

A sick and suffering child is one of the most 
distressing objects in nature, especially when that 
child is but a babe, and cannot, as the nurses say, 
“ tell where its trouble is,” and can only look at 
you with its pleading eyes, as if imploring the 
relief you cannot give. You who have ever had 
an ill and suffering infant, always pining and 
moaning with its aching head, too heavy for the 
slender attenuated neck, dropped upon its nurse’s 
or its mother’s shoulder, yet still often looking up 
with a faint little smile to greet you when you 
come to take it, or piteously holding out its ema- 
ciated arms to coax you back when you are called 
to leave it — you can estimate the distress of the 


134 


A -wife’s distresses. 


poor young father, living three miles distant from 
the sick child, that might at any hour grow sud- 
denly worse, and die ; and only permitted to visit 
it occasionally, at the pleasure of others. 

Fannie’s health, never strong, began to fail; loss 
of rest night after night, with the sick child, 
joined to the fatiguing duties of her situation, 
which she was still obliged to retain as a means 
of support, exhausted her strength. 

The poor infant, bereft all day of both parents, 
and left in charge of an old free negress that lived 
near the shop, had the sad, unnatural grief of home 
sickness added to its other suffering, and so pined 
and failed day by day. 

This state of things lasted for some weeks. 

After a night of suffering to the child and sleep- 
lessness to herself, Fannie would rise in the morn- 
ing, and, though nearly blind, giddy, and fainting 
from habitual loss of rest, she would set her room 
in order, eat a morsel of breakfast, bathe and dress 
the little one, collect all the articles it would need, 


A wife’s distresses. 135 

and prepare its food and medicine for the day; 
and, lastly, dress herself with neatness and taste, 
for it was very necessary that the shop girl should 
look as well as possible ; take her sick babe in one 
arm, and its basket of necessaries in the other, 
lock her door, and set out for the shop, stopping 
on her way to leave the child and its basket at 
aunt Peggy’s hut, where there was no cradle or 
rocking-chair, but, what was perhaps as well, a 
pallet laid in the coolest part of the room. 

Here Fannie would sit and rest a moment, while 
she nursed her child, and then she would lay it 
down upon the pallet and leave it, thankful if the 
little creature happened to be sleeping peacefully, 
wretched if it chanced to be wakeful and to be 
wailing after its mother. 

One morning, when Fannie had lingered beyond 
her hour for going to the store, trying to put to 
sleep or to pacify the suffering child, she finally 
laid it down upon the pallet, and, with many 
kisses and soothing words and promises to come 


136 


A wife’s distre 


back soon, tore herself away; as she 

reached the door, the little one s ipon its 

feeble limbs, staggered • toward h<^, h il, with 
its weak hand dasping her skirts. 

Fannie burst into tears, took the babe up in her 
^rirts, sat down upon a chair, and, pressing the 
little sufferer to her bosom, caressed and soothed 
it, and promised never to leave it again ; and, 
speaking to the old woman, said — 

“ Please go over to Leroux’s, aunt Peggy, and 
tell monsieur that I can’t come to-day, on account 
of poor little Coralie ; and I don’t know when I 
can come — so he may, if he chooses, look out for 
somebody else to fill my place.” 

The prudent old woman expostulated, asked 
Fannie what she would do for a living if she gave 
up her situation at Leroux’s, and advised her to 
hold fast, saying that the child might die, and 
then there ! she couldn’t get the place again so 
easy as she had lost it. 

v But Fannie was firm. Pressing the infant 


A wife’s distresses. 137 

closer to her bosom, she replied : Yes ; that little 
Coralie might die, and then the thought of how 
often she had left the poor baby grieving for her 
mother, would break her heart ; that it was no use 
for any one to talk ; come what might, she never 
would leave the sick child again. 

Aunt Peggy carried the message, and brought 
back the reply that Madame Leroux had always 
expected this trouble to come upon Fannie; that 
she had always said so; and that Fannie would 
find her words true, that i this was only the begin- 
ning of the troubles she would meet, for having 
been so lost to her own interest as to marry a 
handsome slave man, whose very hands were not 
his own to help her. 

Fannie said that she would trust in God, unto 
death and beyond death ; for that often she thought 
the best wav in which he could right his children’s 
wrongs, r mfort their afflictions, was by taking 
them 1 world to his own heaven. 


138 


BROKEN PLEDGES. 


CHAPTER XI. 

BROKEN PLEDGES. 

T RULY, the poor young creature needed all 
this faith, to enable her to bear the troubles 
that were, and those that were to come. She 
carried little Coralie back to her own poor room. 
She sought out what plain sewing and clear- 
starching she could get to do in her own home ; 
but this was very little, now that so many of the 
ladies and gentlemen among whom she hoped to 
get employment had left the city for the Northern 
watering-places. It brought her a very scanty 
income ; and as, out of this, room-rent, fuel, light, 
food, clothing, medicine, and other incidental 
expenses, had to be paid, and as, besides, she would 
not suffer little Coralie to want any comfort, or 
even any luxury, that she could p.’ocure for her 
by her own exertions and self-denial, it followed, 


BROKEN PLEDGES. 


139 


of course, that she herself went without a suffi- 
ciency of the real necessaries of life ; and so, priva- 
tion being added to her other ills, accelerated the 
decline of her health. 

Valentine could only come to see them once a 
week. He would come Sunday morning, spend 
the day in nursing his darling, tear himself from 
her clinging, baby arms, and return, almost broken- 
hearted, at night. 

This was the condition of things when the 

yellow fever made its appearance at M . This 

was nothing new — the pestilence was no stranger, 
it was an annual visitor at M . 

But this summer the fever appeared in its most 
terrible aspect, with all the malign, virulent, and 
fatal characteristics of the plague. 

I am not about to harrow your feelings or my 
own with any minute details of the misery that 
ensued as the pestilence advanced ; of the physical 
agony, from pain, fever, thirst and famine ; of the 
■wretchedness, from bereavement, poverty, and 


140 


BROKEN PLEDGES. 


desertion ; of the mental anguish, from terror, 
grief, horror and despair. The pestilence brings 
in its dread train almost every form of physical 
and moral evil ; at the same time, providentially, 
it calls forth, to combat these, the most exalted 
virtues in the human character. You have only 
to call to mind the ravages of the yellow fever at 
Norfolk and Portsmouth, to estimate the horrors 

of the pestilence at M . The people, by 

hundreds, fled the city : those that remained, by 
thousands, died. 

The population, reduced to less than one-half, 
consisted chiefly of the poorer classes, who could 
not get away, and of those heroic souls whom a 
high sense of Christian duty or simple humanity 
had retained in or brought to the scene of misery. 

A dense, copper-colored cloud hung low, like a 
pall, over the plague-stricken city; and its air 
was considered deadly to the new-comer that 
breathed it. 

All intercourse between the city and the sur- 


BROKEN PLEDGES. 


141 


rounding plantations was interdicted. The great- 
est anxiety was felt by the planters, lest the fever 
should break out in their families, or, where it 
would be more likely to make its first appearance, 
among the slaves; the greatest precautions were 
taken to avert such a dread misfortune. The 
masters and their families confined themselves 
strictly to their own domains, and the slaves were 
positively forbidden to approach the city, or even 
the highways leading thitherward. As many of 
the neighboring negroes had friends or relatives 
living in the city, and as their affections are known 
to be rather obstinate and daring, to insure safety, 
a voluntary police was organized by the planters, 
whose duty it was, in turn, to guard the highways, 
and see that no negro passed without a written 
permit from their master or mistress. 

Preventives of disease and disinfecting agents 
were diligently sought after. Alcohol, in the form 
of wine, brandy, and whiskey, was supposed to be 
a sovereign safeguard against the pestilence. I do 


142 


BROKEN PLEDGES. 


not say that it was laid down as a medical dogma 
that a habitual inebriate enjoyed immunity from 
contagion ; but I do say, what will probably shock 
my temperance readers, that all persons W’ere 
counselled by their physicians to keep themselves 
always slightly under the influence of alcohol, so 
long as the pestilence should last. And most 
people took the advice, finding, at least, something 
in the half-stimulating, half-stupefying effects of 
liquor, to brave or dull the sense of danger. Wine 
and brandy were freely used in the planter’s 
family ; whiskey was freely circulated among the 
negroes of the plantation. Some among them, of 
the Methodist persuasion and the Temperance 
Society, demurred at breaking their pledge; but 
even these, when made to understand that the 
whiskey was to be taken as medicine , by the advice 
of a physician, felt their consciences set at rest upon 
the subject, and never was doctors stuff swallowed 
with less repugnance than their grog was taken, 
three times a day. 


BROKEN PLEDGES. 


143 


Valentine held to his principles ; he would not 
break his pledge. In vain for a long time his 
master, and even his mistress, remonstrated with 
him. 

Circumstances altered cases ; times were changed; 
self-preservation was the first law of nature; in 
view of the present danger, his pledge was not 
binding ; for if he kept his pledge, he might lose 
his life, they would argue. 

“ That was the Lord’s affair ; all he had to do 
was to keep his pledge ; and if he should die, so 
much the better; life had no charms for him,” 
Valentine would reply. 

And in truth the wretched young man was much 
to be compassionated. His wife and child alone 
and helpless in the midst of the plague, exposed to 
the united horrors of pestilence, famine, and soli- 
tary death from desertion; himself forbidden to 
seek them at their utmost need. Thrice had he 
escaped and sought the city, and as often had he 
fallen into the hands of the voluntary police ; they 


144 


BROKEN PLEDGES. 

did not maltreat him, except inasmuch as they 
would not suffer him to pass without a permit from 
his master, and this permit could not be obtained. 
He could think of nothing but his wife and child. 
Were they living, and suffering uniinagined 
miseries? Were they among the uncounted dead, 
whose rude coffins lay one upon another, three or 
four feet deep, not in graves, but in trenches ? He 
did not even know. But all his thoughts by day, 
and his fitful dreams by night, were haunted with 
the forms of Fannie and of Coralie. He saw little 
Coralie in every phase of memory, and hope, and 
fear. He saw her bright and beautiful, as she had 
been in the sweet spring-time ; he saw her pale 
and pining, as he had seen her last in her wasting 
sickness ; and he saw her lying dead in her coffin, 
and woke with a loud cry of anguish. His heart, 
his spirit, seemed broken. 

Seeing his haggard and despairing looks, his 
mistress expostulated with him, and counselled the 
use of wine or brandy, saying that the depressing 


BROKEN PLEDGES. 


145 


effects of the atmosphere were felt by everybody, 
even by those living in the country ; that it affected 
all persons with despondency, causing them to look 
only on the darkest side of all things ; and that it 
was only to be counteracted by the stimulating 
effects of alcohol. 

At last Valentine followed this counsel, and took 
the prescribed “medicine.” Not to prevent com 
tagion did he take it, though that purpose would 
have exonerated him from the charge of a broken 
pledge ; but to dull the poignant sense of suffering, 
which was greater than he could bear. 

Oh, fatal day that he placed again to his lips the 
maddening glass ! All have seen how dangerous 
is such a relapse. It is generally a sudden and 
hopeless fall. It was so in the case of this poor 
fellow. He took the first glass, and, liking its 
effects, took a second and a third, before stopping. 
If he awoke in the morning to remember his trou- 
bles, he drank all day to forget them, and fell at 
flight into a heavy sleep. He zealously followed 
9 


146 


BROKEN PLEDGES. 


the medical prescription — nay, he quite overdid it, 
and kept himself not “slightly” under the influence 
of alcohol. And in a short space of time, if his 
master or his mistress remonstrated with him, it 
was not for total abstinence from intoxicating 
spirits, but for the opposite extreme of an habitual 
intemperance. Such was the state of affairs at 
Red Hill for a few weeks, during which Valentine 
had no direct or certain intelligence of Fannie and 
his little child. 




THREATENING. 


147 


CHAPTER XII. 


THREATENING. 


NE morning, near the last of August — yet 



\_/ stay ! Such mornings dawn unheralded by 
any sign to warn us what the fated day shall bring 
forth ere its close. Such mornings dawn as other 
mornings do, — the doomed men and women rise 
as other people do, — as you or I arose this morning, 
upon the dread day that unpremeditated crime 
or sudden death shall fix their mortal doom for- 


ever. 


That morning Mr. Waring arose, feeling rather 
unwell and irritable, which was no unusual circum- 
stance of late, for he was chafing between two 
conflicting interests, one of which called him away, 
while the other bound him at home. He was very 
anxious, with his wife, to leave the neighborhood 
of the infected city ; but, in the present condition 


148 


THRE ATE KING. 


of affairs, he hesitated to trust the plantation and 
negroes to the care of the overseer. 

Valentine arose with the same heavy heart that 
had marked his waking hours for many days, yet 
dressed himself and combed his raven-black curls 
with the habitual regard to neatness and beauty 
that had become a second nature. And it was 
curious to see how this habit of neatness and 
elegance lasted through all the darkest hours of 
his life. 

Phaedra got up, and attended to the arrange- 
ment of the house and the preparation of breakfast 
wdth her usual exactness. 

Mrs. Waring, suffering from the debilitating 
effects of the weather, indulged herself in the 
morning, and breakfasted in bed. 

No foreboding was felt by any one ; no token in 
sky or air, or circumstances without, or presenti- 
ment within their hearts, warned them of calamity, 
crime, and sudden death, at hand. That morning, 
after breakfast, Valentine strolled listlessly out 


THREATENING. 


149 


toward the public road leading to the town. It 
was his daily habit. It had been commenced in 
the hope of meeting some one from the city who 
might be able to give him news of Fannie and her 
little child. And though he never met with suc- 
cess, he still rambled thither every day, as well 
from force of habit as from the faint hope that he 
might yet hear of them. He strolled to the high- 
way, met his usual ill success, and, after lingering 
an hour or two, sauntered dejectedly toward home. 

When he reached a lane that separated his 
master’s plantation on the right hand from Mr. 
Hewitt’s on the left, his attention was arrested by 
the sound of a low voice. He listened. 

“Hish-sh! W alley, come here, here to the gap.” 

The voice proceeded from behind the hedge, 
formed by a thick growth of Spanish daggers, that 
completely covered the fence on the left of the 
lane. There was a small broken place in it, 
toward which Valentine sauntered indifferently. 
He saw on the other side the huge head of a 


150 


THREATENING. 


gigantic negro, a jet-black, lumbering, awkward, 
good-natured monster enough, who belonged to Mr. 
Hewitt, and who sported the imposing cognomen 
of “Governor.” 

“Well, Governor, is that you? What do you 
want with me ?” 

“Hish-sh, Walley, don’t talk so loud! our ober- 
seer aint fur off. Brudder ’Lisha, he been out 
from town.” 

“Well!” exclaimed Valentine, with breathless 
interest, bending forward. 

“ W’en you hear from Fannie las’ ? ” 

“ Not for two weeks. Why do you ask ? Have 
you heard from her ? Speak ! oh, for heaven’s 
sake, speak ! ” exclaimed Valentine, breathlessly. 

“ Fannie done got de feber.” 

“ Oh, God ! ” 

“ Brudder ’Lisha, he done bin ’ere dis mornin’ 
and tell w^e-dem.” 

“ Oh, heaven ! oh, when was she taken ? Who 
is with her ? Is she — ” 


THREATENING. 


151 


“ Dunno nuffin ’tall ’bout it, ’cept ’tis she’s got 
do feber. Brudder ’Lisha, lie done bin dere to her 
place, an’ heern it.” 

“ Where is Elisha?” 

“ Done gone right traight back to town.” 

“And that is all the satisfaction you can give 
me,” cried Valentine, beside himself with distress. 

“ Yaw, yaw! I trought how I’d watch arter you, 
and tell you — ’long as you’d like to hear it. 
Ilish-sh-sh ! Walley, stoop down here close, till I 
whisper to you.” 

“What now!” exclaimed Valentine, in new 
alarm, bending his ear to the huge negro’s lips. 

“ Ilish-sh-sh ! W alley, I icish how it wur my 
’ ooman as had de y oiler feber!” 

“Wretch!” 

“An’ wish we-dem’s white nigger oberseer had 
it too!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“And I wish dey bofe might die long of it.” 

“Wretch ! I say again !” 


152 


THREATENING. 


“Trufe, brudder ! dat’s me jes’ ! I’se de wretch! 
an’ I wish how dis same wretch might hab de 
feber long o’ de oder two, an’ how I might die 
long of ’em, and how we might all go up to Mars- 
ter’s trone, and have de case cided whose wife dis 
’ooman is for to be.” 

“ Governor ! what, do you mean to say that the 
new overseer is tampering with your wife’s fidelity 
to you ?” 

“ Hish-sh ! he aint fur off. Dunno what de 
debbil you mean wid your big words. But she 
lub fine dress, an’ he gib it to her; she berry putty, 
mos’ white, you know, an’ he sen’ me way off to de 
furres’ fiel’ to work.” 

“Why don’t you talk to her?” 

“ ’Taint no use, she ’ny eberyting.” 

“ Why don’t you speak to your master?” 

“ ’Taint no use ; he won’t nebber hear no ’plaints 
gin de oberseer.” 

“ I am very sorry for you, poor fellow ! and I 
would like to give you comfort and counsel, but I 


THREATENING. 


153 


must hurry away from you, and try to get leave 
to go to town, and see poor, dear Fannie. If I 
were you, Governor, I would speak to Major Hewitt 
upon this subject. He never w r ould permit such a 
w r rong done you.” 

“ ’Taint no use, I tell yer ! But nebber min’* 
Walley, listen yer!, some ob dese yer days I fixes 
him ! ” 

Valentine started at the demoniac look that, in 
a man usually so mild, accompanied these vague 
words ; and, bidding the negro a hasty good- 
morning, he ran along the lane until he reached 
the house. 

His own heart and brain were wild with grief 
and alarm, as he hastened to the presence of his 
master, whom he did not doubt would now, in this 
extremity, permit him to go to the city. 

Mr. Waring, in an irritable frame of mind, was 
walking up and down the front piazza, as Valen- 
tine stepped upon the floor. 

“Well, what now?” he exclaimed, testily, at 


154 


THREATENING. 


the sight of the young man’s agitated counte- 
nance. 

“ My wife, sir ! she has got the fever.” 

“ Sorry to hear it, but — how did you hear it, 
sir? I hope no one from that place has had the 
temerity to set foot upon these premises, in face 
of the prohibition?” 

“ No, sir ; I happened to meet with Governor, 
Major Hewitt’s man, and he had seen an acquain- 
tance of ours from the city, who came from Fan- 
nie’s house this morning, and brought the news.” 

“ 1 wonder Major Hewitt does not take better 
care of his own interests than to permit stragglers 
from the city to infest his place. He will bring 
the pestilence among us before we know where we 
are,” said Mr. Waring, angrily. 

“But, Fannie, sir, my poor wife — ” 

“Well, what of her? I am sorry, of course, 
really sorry, Valentine. It is a pity you ever got 
married; if you had not, neither you nor Fannie 
would have had so much trouble. It was a very 
foolish piece of business ! ” 


THREATENING. 


155 


“ Perhaps it was, sir ; but people who love each 
other have a sort of propensity to get married. 
It can’t be helped, I suppose; it’s a way they’ve 
got.” 

“And a bad way — very bad way — that I ought 
never to have sanctioned.” 

“ Nor imitated, sir ! ” 

“You are an impertinent fellow! But I over- 
look that. There is some difference, I should 
judge, between you and me, and I certainly 
ought never to have consented to your taking 
that girl.” 

“ It is too late to say that now, sir !” said Valen- 
tine, with a sigh so heavy that Mr. Waring in- 
quired, quickly — 

“ So you repent it, do you ?” 

“No, I do not!” replied Valentine, with sor- 
rowful earnestness; adding, “but, oh, sir, I am 
losing precious time. I came here to ask you for 
a permit to go to town and see my wife.” 

“A permit ! A permit to go to town, and to 


156 


THKEATENING. 


visit a woman ill with the very pestilence we are 
all doing our best to guard against ? A permit to 
go there, and take the fever just as sure as you go, 
and bring back and spread the contagion among 
hundreds, whom we are all doing our best to 
guard from the pestilence ! Impossible, V alentine ! 
I wonder you could be so unreasonable as to 
ask it ! ” 

“Unreasonable that I should want to go and 
see my suffering wife ? ” 

“Yes — under circumstances. Yes, I am sorry 
for her,. Valentine, and sorry for you, though I 
cannot say that your manner is very respectful. 
Still, I am very sorry for you ; and if it were pos- 
sible for me to do anything for your relief, I would 
do it — as it is, I regret that I can do nothing.” 

“ Oh, sir ! Master Oswald, you could let me go 
to town,” pleaded Valentine. 

“At the imminent hazard of your own life, and 
the all but certainty of bringing the pestilence 
upon this plantation.” 


THREATENING. 


157 


“All do not get the fever who are exposed to its 
influence; neither do they always spread contagion 
into the healthy places they chance to visit,” 
reasoned the young man. 

“ The risk is too great,” replied the master, 
curtly. 

“Would you think it too great if your own wife 
w T ere the one concerned, sir?” argued Valentine. 

“ Be more respectful, sirrah ! There is some 
difference, I should say ! ” retorted the master, 
angrily. 

“Yes, there is a difference !” cried Valentine; 
“ and when I see anything to respect — ” suddenly 
he stopped, swift as lightning came the thought, 
that if he refrained from provoking his master 
now, and came to him an hour hence, when he 
should be in a better humor, the prayer that he 
now denied, he might then grant. Controlling 
his rising indignation, he bowed, turned abruptly, 
and went off. 

“Impudent rascal! he was just about to say 


158 


THREATENING. 


something that I should have had to knock him 
down for ; and then he thought better of it, and 
stopped — it’s well he did ! Poor fellow, I am 
sorry for him, too; but it is all his own fault! 
If he were not so presumptuous, he would not feel 
so badly. That is the very deuce of it ; for that 
prevents him from seeing that there is a differ- 
ence.” Such were the reflections of Mr. Waring, 
as he continued to pace up and down the front 
piazza. 


USELESS ENTREATIES. 


159 


CHAPTER XIII. 

USELESS ENTREATIES. 

V ALENTINE had mastered his anger, but he 
could not control the terrible anxiety that 
preyed upon his heart; Fannie suffering, Fannie 
dying, deserted, alone ; little Coralie perishing 
from neglect — these were the torturing visions 
that maddened his brain. 

He went and told Phaedra, who wept bitterly 
at the sad story ; but yet sought to comfort her 
son, and inspire hope, by promising to go herself 
and tell Mrs. Waring, and get her to intercede 
with her husband for Valentine. 

This was done, but with little success ; for, 
though Mrs. Waring was moved to compassion, 
and went to her husband, and besought him to 
take compassion upon Valentine, and send him to 
see his sick wife, and trust in Providence to avert 


160 


USELESS ENTREATIES. 


all evil consequences, Mr. Waring was not only 
firm in liis refusal, but also exhibited no small 
degree of impatience at her interference. Unwil- 
ling to inflict a hopeless disappointment upon the 
poor fellow, Mrs. Waring tempered the report of 
her ill success, by saying that, though Mr. Waring 
had now refused her petition, she still hoped 
that he would think better of it, and grant the 
permit. 

Yet all this time Fannie might be dying, and 
her child perishing for want — every moment was 
precious beyond price ! 

Plnedra sought her master’s presence, and 
pleaded with him — pleaded by her long years of 
faithful service; by her devoted care of him in his 
feeble infancy; by the days of his childhood, 
when he and Valentine were playmates; by all 
the long years, as boys and as men, those two had 
passed together, inseparable companions, until the 
marriage of each ; by her own devoted attachment 
to them; by his love for his own wife; by every 


USELESS ENTREATIES. 


161 


sweet affection and holy thought, to have compas- 
sion on her son, his own foster-brother, and let 
him go and minister to his sick — probably his 
dying wife. Phrndra pleaded with more eloquence, 
but with not more success, than the others. 

Some substances melt under the action of water 
— others in the same element turn to stone. In- 
stead of melting, Mr. Waring’s obduracy seemed 
to ossify under the effects of tears and entreaties. 
He told Phaedra, firmly, that he did not mean to 
gratify one man, at the hazard of exposing many 
to contagion. And at the dinner-table, speaking 
partly in justification of his own line of conduct, 
and partly in apology for the manner in which he 
had met Mrs. Waring’s intercession of the morn- 
ing, he said — 

“ You emphasize this matter too much, madame; 
this Fannie is, after all, but one sufferer among 
thousands; you also mistake in endowing these 
creatures with the same acuteness of feelings that 
we possess ; there is a difference, madame ! there 
10 


162 


USELESS ENTREATIES. 


is a difference ! I wish I could make people 
understand that there is a difference; neither 
"Valentine nor Phaedra seem to have the slightest 
conception of this difference.” 

“I must confess that in that respect I share 
their obtusity,” remarked madame, while Mr. 
"Waring, in apparent self-satisfaction, went on with 
his dinner. 

But was he really satisfied with himself? Who 
shall answer? 

Meantime, Valentine wandered about, consumed 
with sorrow and anxiety. Doubtless, he would 
have run away, and endeavored to reach the town ; 
but he knew how carefully the avenues thither 
were guarded, and how desperate was the attempt 
that he had already thrice before made to elude 
the police. It would involve a loss of several hours 
to make the attempt, which, if it should fail, as it 
was altogether likely to do, would entirely pre- 
clude him from all possible chance of seeing 
Fannie ; therefore he thought best to make an- 


USELESS ENTREATIES. 


163 


other appeal to his master, before taking the last 
desperate step. He knew by experience that the 
hour after dinner always found Oswald Waring in 
his best humor. 

It was then that he sought him. 

He found him — not, as before, walking in the 
front piazza, where the afternoon sun was now 
shining, but reclining on a settee on the back 
piazza, that was now in the shade. He lay 
languidly fanning himself with one hand, while 
he held a pamphlet that he w r as reading in the 
other. Valentine had resolved not to provoke 
him by any hasty words, as he had used in the 
morning. He resolved to govern his own spirit, 
to approach his master respectfully, humbly. He 
did so. 

“ Master Oswald ! ” 

Mr. Waring looked up, seemed annoyed, and 
hastened to exclaim : 

“ Now, Valentine, if you have come again about 
going to see your sick wife, and all that humbug, 


164 


USELESS ENTREATIES. 


I tell you it is no manner of use. I have been 
wearied nearly to death already with fruitless 
importunity, and I want to hear no more of it.” 

“Oh, sir!” 

“ I tell you it is of no use to talk to me ! ” 

“Ah, hut Master Oswald, only listen, even if 
you do no more ! ” pleaded V alentine, in the fond 
hope of an ardent nature, that judging from the 
earnestness of his feelings, believes that if he gains 
a hearing, he gains his cause. 

“ Well, well ! but I warn you it will be wasted 
breath.” 

“Ah, sir, do not say so ! I am nearly crazy with 
trouble, sir, when I think of Fannie and poor little 
Coralie. She was very poor, sir, and the child 
was very sick, even before the pestilence appeared. 
Now she has the fever in that horrible place, with 
no one to help her or to take care of the poor 
child. She may be dying, sir, even while I speak ! 
she may be dying, as many of the poor in that 
doomed city die, deserted — alone — but for the 


. USELESS ENTREATIES. 


165 


famishing infant, whose cries add to her own 
sufferings; she may have, as many of the poor 
have, famine and burning thirst added to her 
fever, with no one near to place to her lips a 
morsel of food or a drop of water ! Think of it, 
sir ! My God ! do you wonder that I am almost 
frantic ? ” cried the young man, earnestly, beseech- 
ingly clasping his hands. 

“An imaginary picture altogether, Valentine,” 
coolly remarked Mr. Waring. 

“A common reality among the poor of the city, 
this dreadful season, sir. You know it. You have 
heard it and read it. And she is very poor, sir. 
She and the child often suffered, even before the 
pestilence came and stopped her work with all the 
rest. Judge what her condition must be now. 
Oh, my God ! ” cried the young man, in a voice of 
agony. 

“Your fears exaggerate the case, Valentine. 
There are alms-houses and hospitals, and sisters 
of charity and relief funds, and all those sort of 
contrivances for the very poor.”* 


1G6 


USELESS ENTREATIES. 


“ Yet you know, for I heard you read it, that 
all these places are full, that the relief fund failed 
to meet all the demands made upon it ; and you 
know, besides, that all the poor white people have 
to be taken care of, before the colored people are 
thought of.” 

“ Of course, there is a difference, you know. I 
wish, once for all, you would understand that 
fact,” said Mr. Waring, replying only to the latter 
proposition. Then he added, “ your fears magnify 
the danger ; the yellow fever cannot last forever, 
and she may get well.” 

“ Not one in ten do — I heard you say it.” 

“Well, she may be that one.” 

“ What, sir, with all the privations of her 
lot?” 

“Yes, why not? You are out of sorts, Valen- 
tine. Go into the house and take a drink ; it will 
set you up — in the dining-room — sideboard — left- 
hand corner — some fine old Otard brandy — help 
yourself; it will make a man of you.” 


USELESS ENTREATIES. 


167 


“Thank you, Master Oswald; but that is not 
what I came for.” 

“What the devil did you come for, then, you 
troublesome fellow? tell me, and let me go to 
sleep,” exclaimed the master, impatiently turning 
on his settee. 

“ I came to beg and to pray you, Master Oswald, 
for a permit to go to town.” 

“And you cannot have it, Valentine; so you 
may save your prayers. Once for all, if you and 
your mother, and madame, your mistress, to back 
you, were to pray from now till doomsday, you — 
cannot — have — .it. Do you understand ? ” said the 
master, stolidly. 

Valentine governed his own rising anger; it was 
as much as he could possibly do; he could not 
suppress his grief, but broke forth in a voice of 
agony— 

“Oh! Fannie, Fannie, Fannie, and her little 
child!” 

“ Sir, stop your howling, or go somewhere else 


1G8 


USELESS ENTREATIES. 


to howl. What is Fannie or her brat to me? If 
they are suffering, it is her own fault ; she had no 
business to marry a slave, •whom she could never 
expect to help her. And if their sufferings afflict 
you, it serves you right; it is a just punishment 
for your cursed folly in marrying a free woman, 
with no master to look after her or her children.” 

“ I will he silent ! I will be silent ! ” thought 
Valentine, as he turned from his master. 

A storm was raging in his breast; all the fierce 
passions of his nature were aroused; rage, grief, 
terror and despair, made a hell of his bosom. In 
passing through the hall, he suddenly dived into 
the dining-room, poured out and drained a half 
tumbler of the strong brandy; then he hurried 
through and out of the front door, to make ready 
for his flight. 

These preparations were soon made, and Valen- 
tine commenced his journey. 


CHI YALE T. 


169 


CHAPTER XIV. 

CHIVALRY. 

TIP HE highway leading to the city was bordered 
i on one side by the hedge of Spanish daggers 
that skirted the lower cotton-fields of Major 
Hewitt’s plantation, and on the other side by a 
causeway, that shut off an extensive cypress 
swamp, that formed a portion of Mr. Waring’s 
estate. Avoiding the middle of the road, Valen- 
tine leaped over the causeway, and, though he 
waded half a leg deep in water, he made his way 
safely under the shelter of the wall and the 
shadow of the trees. 

He had waded thus a mile, on his way toward 
the city, when the sound of a voice, singing a 
Methodist hymn, and approaching from the oppo- 
site direction, arrested his attention. He knew 
the hymn, and the voice, that, in turn, sang and 


170 


CHIVALRY. 


intoned it, and, by them, recognized, before seeing 
Elisha, the colored class-leader of his own congre- 
gation, the man who had that morning brought 
the first news of Fannie’s illness. A new, intense 
anxiety seized him. Elisha came from the direc- 
tion of the city. “ Might he not bring some later 
intelligence of Fannie?” he inquired of himself, 
as he hastened to climb the wall of the causeway, 
and peered through the parasitical vines that 
clung to the top, to survey the scene. 

Lying between the dark-hued cypress swamp 
and the high hedge that shut off the cotton-fields, 
the road stretched westward, one long irregular 
vista of yellow light shining in the last rays of 
the setting sun; and solitary, except for the 
lonely figure of the old negro preacher, who, 
stick and bundle slung across his shoulder, 
came trudging onward, and beguiling his way 
with chanting the refrain of a wild weird revival 
hymn, in strange keeping with the time and 
circumstances — 


CHIVALRY. 


171 


“ Go, wake him ! Go, wake him ! 

Judgment day is coming ! 

Go, wake him ! Go, wake him ! 

Before it is too late ! ” 

“Hist! Elisha! Elisha!” called Valentine, in a 
hushed, eager voice. 

“Who dar?” exclaimed the old negro, starting 
back so forcibly that the stick and bundle vibrated 
on his shoulder. 

“ It is I, Elisha ! Come here, quickly. How is 
Fannie, my dear, suffering Fannie? Quickly! 
You have seen her since morning?” cried Valen- 
tine, in a low, vehement tone. 

“Brudder Walley! I ’clar’; de werry man I 
lookin’ arter ! ” said the old creature, approaching 
the causeway. 

“Tell me! tell me! how is Fannie?” cried 
Valentine, impatiently. 

“Ah, chile! we-dem mus’ ’mit to de will o’ 
Marster,” sighed the old preacher. 

“For Heaven’s sake be plain ! Is she — is she 


172 


CHIVALRY. 


still living ?” questioned the youth, in an agony 
of anxiety. 

“ Wur, when I lef’ dar, chile! wur, when I lef’ 
dar! Dat all I can say for sartain ’bout libbin’.” 

Valentine groaned deeply, asking — 

“ When did you see her? Tell me everything 
— everything you know about her.” 

“I happen in dar, to ’quire arter her, ’bout 
noon. I fin’ her all alone, berry low, berry low, 
’deed. Flies, like a cloud, settled on her face; 
she onable to lif’ her han’, drive ’em ’way; lip 
bake wid thust; and she onable han’ hersef a 
drap o’ water.” 

“ Oh, God ! and the child — the cliild ! ” 

“ ’Prawlin’ on de floor, kivered with flies an’ 
dirt, cryin’ low an’ weak, like, for bunder.” 

“ Elisha, I must hurry; I must fly! Turn 
back, and walk a little way with me, while you 
tell me more; but if you see any one coming or 
going on the road, whistle, to warn me, for I have 
no permit,” said Valentine, dropping behind the 


CHIVALRY. 


173 


causeway, and plunging along through the water, 
toward the city. 

They could no longer see each other, and their 
conversation was carried on over opposite sides 
of the causeway. 

“ Plow you gwine cross bridge widout ’mit, 
Brudder W alley ? ” 

“I don’t know; I must try. Tell me more 
about Fannie.” 

“ Well, you know, ’out my tailin’ you, how I 
tuk up de chile offen de flure, an’ wash it, an’ 
dress it, and git milk, and feed it. An’ how I go 
for water, and wash her face, and give her drink, 
an’ fan de flies offen her, till she come to her min’, 
like; an’ how I’d stay ’long o’ her till dis time, 
ony when she come to herself, she put her two hans 
togedder, so she did, de chile, and begged an’ 
prayed me to come arter you, her ‘dear Walley,’ 
to come an’ see her once more ’fore she died, an’ 
take de poor baby home long o’ you. An’ so, 
dough I done travel dis yer yode once afore to-day, 


174 


CHIVALRY. 


I takes my staff in my ban’ an’ I sets off ; an’, 
franks be to de Lor’, dey can’t sturve me from 
trav’lin de highway, dough I daren’t now-a-day 
put my fut offin it, or onto one o’ der plantashunes. 
So, now, bress de Lor’, here I is; an’ long as I 
wur so hoped up as to fall in ’long o’ you, all I 
got to do now is, to ’company of you back to de 
city.” 

In a few earnest, fervent words, Valentine 
thanked his friend, and then, saving all his breath, 
and concentrating all his energies, in silence he 
toiled on, knee-deep in water and ankle-deep in 
mud, through the cypress swamp toward the city. 

Old Daddy Elisha took up the burden of his 
hymn, and sang or intoned various portions of 
that weird melody as he walked. 

Valentine, behind the causeway, in the shadow 
and the silence, passed unquestioned ; but Elisha 
was frequently hailed by some vigilant member 
of the voluntary police. If personally known to 
the questioner, he was allowed to pass; if not, he 


CHIVALRY. 


175 


was required to show his papers; a light had to 
be struck to examine them, and all this took up 
so much time, that although Elisha had the high 
road to walk upon, and Valentine the swamp to 
wade through, the latter far outstripped the 
former, and arrived first at the bridge over the river. 

To cross this bridge was the only means from 
this direction of reaching the city ; but the bridge 
was guarded at both ends by the patrol, or volun- 
tary police ; to elude their vigilance was the only 
desperate part of Valentine’s undertaking. 

The river was broad, deep, and strong in current ; 
no one had ever dreamed of the feat of swimming 
across it. It was bordered on this side by a 
marsh so deep that, in the attempt to pass it, a 
man of moderate size and strength must have been 
swallowed up. 

The bridge was a continuation of the road and 
causeway, flanked by parapets extending across 
the river, and joining the road on the opposite 
side. 


176 


CHIVALRY. 


Valentine never thought of the impossible feat of 
wading the marsh and swimming the river, neither 
did he dream of attempting to cross the bridge in 
the very face of the patrol guard that twice before 
had arrested him; hut he projected a scheme 
almost equally wild and hopeless. This plan was 
to cross the river by clambering along the water 
side of this parapet — a plan involving less risk of 
discovery by the patrol, certainly — but under- 
taken at the most imminent peril of death by 
losing hold and dropping into the river below. 

Valentine waded on through the cypress swamp, 
until the trees grew more sparsely, and the mud 
under the water became deeper and more treach- 
erous as it merged into the marsh nearest the 
river. 

The poor fellow then clambered along, now on 
the broken causeway, his eyes all on fire with vigi- 
lance, and now dropping down into the swamp, and 
so in more peril and difficulty he went on, until 
he reached the place where the marsh merged 


CHIVALRY. 


177 


into the river, and the road and causeway into the 
bridge and parapet. 

Here he heard the patrol guard in their little 
guard-house laughing and talking over their drink, 
for they too had to keep the pestilence at bay with 
alcohol. 

Here he attempted to gain the parapet ; and in 
doing so set in motion some alarum bell, at whose 
first peals he found himself suddenly surrounded, 
and in the hands of the patrol. 

“ My good fellow, that feat has been tried once 
before, so we prepared for the second, you under- 
stand,” said one of his captors. 

They all knew Valentine ; with most of them he 
was a great favorite, though to others he was, for the 
sole reason of his natural superiority, very obnoxious. 

While Valentine stood overwhelmed with despair, 
he discerned Major Hewitt among the party ; and 
gathering some hope from the presence of that 
gentleman, he clasped his hands, and appealing to 
him, said — 

11 


178 


CHIVALRY. 


“ Oh, Major Hewitt, you know me, sir ! You 
have known me from childhood ! Your dear lady 
knew me too, and was very kind to the poor 
quadroon boy, when he was a child. And you 
know my poor little Fannie, too ! Sir, my heart 
is breaking — that is nothing, but she is dying ! 
Sir, my wife is dying, alone — not of the fever 
only, but of starvation, of thirst, of neglect, of 
bereavement of all aid ; and she sends to me, sir 
— sends to pray me to come and see her poor face 
for the last time, and take her orphan baby from 
her dead arms, lest it die too ! You are powerful, 
Major Hewitt ! Speak the word, and these gen- 
tlemen will let me pass !” 

“Valentine, my poor boy, if your sorrow had 
not crazed you, you would understand at once that 
I cannot do so ! But I tell you what I can do for 
you ; I can persuade these gentlemen from detain- 
ing you in the guard-house, and I can write a note 
of intercession to your master. Return to him, 
Valentine — take my horse! There he stands; go 


CHIVALRY. 


179 


to Mr. Waring; tell him what you have told me ! 
Give him my note ; he will not refuse you the 
permit, and when you have it, ride back hither as 
fast as you please,” said the major. 

He scribbled a note in haste. Valentine mounted 
the horse, received the missive, and, thanking the 
major from the depths of his heart, rode off. He 
met and hailed Elisha, told him in a few words 
what had passed, and added — 

“ Go on to the city, Elisha ! Go to my dear 
Fannie ! Tell her, if she can still hear your words, 
that I shall be with her in two hours, or die in the 
effort. No ! do not tell her a word to alarm her ! 
Say I will certainly be with her in two hours! 
For I will ! despite of earth and all else, I 
will ! ” 

Valentine galloped swiftly towards home, 
reached the lawn gate, sprang from his horse, 
secured the bridle, and hastened up to the house. 
There was no one in front; he entered the hall, 
looked into the dining-room; it was empty; he ran 


180 


CIIIVALEY. 


in, poured out a glass of brandy, drank it at a 
draught, and passed through the house to the hack 
piazza, where he found his master pacing up and 
down the floor. Mr. Waring had grown heated 
and angry between the frequent potations and the 
irritations of the day. 

“ W ell, sir ! ” he said, turning abruptly to V al- 
entine. “ What now ? How dare you enter my 
presence again, after your insolent conduct of this 
afternoon ? ” 

“Master Oswald, I am very sorry if, in my 
great trouble, I was surprised into saying anything 
wrong. Will you read this note, sir ? ” said Val- 
entine, trying, for Fannie’s dear sake, to quell the 
raging storm in his bosom. 

Oswald Waring took the note with a jerk, tore 
it open impatiently, and casting his eyes over it 
with a scornful curl of his lip, tossed it away, 
exclaiming — 

“ Tush ! Major Hewitt is a fool ! Where did 
you get that, sir?” 


CHIVALRY. 


181 


Valentine hesitated. 

“ I ask you where you got that note, sir ? ” 

“ From Major Hewitt’s own hand, Master 
Oswald,” replied Valentine, at last. 

“Don’t prevaricate with me, sir! Where did 
you see Major Hewitt, then? That is the 
question ! ” 

Again Valentine was silent. 

“What the demon do you mean, sir, by treating 
my questions with this contemptuous silence ? ” 
demanded Mr. Waring, angrily. 

“Master Oswald!” began Valentine, seriously, 
impressively, “ I will answer your question truly ; 
but, first, let me beg you, let me pray you, by all 
your hopes of salvation, to listen to me favorably ; 
for I swear to you, by all my faith in Heaven, that 
it is the very last time I will make the appeal ! ” 
“I am glad to hear it, you troublesome, con- 
foundedly spoiled rascal ! For it is the very last 
minute that I will bear to be trifled with ! ” 

“I met Major Hewitt on the bridge — ” 


182 


CHIVALRY. 


“On the bridge! On the bridge! Why, you 
insolent scoundrel ; do you dare to stand there and 
tell me to my face that, in direct violation of my 
command, you attempted to go to town ? ” 

“ Sir ! sir ! listen to me ! my worst fears are 
confh'med ! My poor Fannie is dying, as I feared 
she might die — alone ! deserted ! dying not only 
of pestilence, but of famine and thirst, and every 
extremity of wretchedness ! She sent a faithful 
messenger, praying me to come and see her once 
more, but once more, to close her eyes and receive 
the orphan child. Oh! could I disregard such an 
appeal as that ? would not any man risk life, and 
more than life, if possible, to obey such a sacred 
call ? I would have perilled my soul ! Can you 
blame me ? ” 

“ They turned you back ! they did right ! 
Thank heaven that I am disposed to consider that 
sufficient punishment under the circumstances and 
am ready to forget your fault. Go, leave me, sir — 
stop ! into the house ! not out of it ! you’re not to 
be trusted, sir.” 


CHIVALRY. 


183 


A volcano seemed burning and raging in the 
young man’s breast; nevertheless, he controlled 
himself with wonderful strength, while he still 
pleaded his cause. 

“Major Hewitt felt my position, sir! he had 
compassion on me, and wrote that note. Give 
heed to it, sir! The time may come, when, on 
your own death-bed, or by the sick-bed of one you 
love, and fear to lose, and pray for, it may console 
and bless you to remember the mercy you may now 
show to me ; the Good Being has said, ‘ Blessed 
are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.’ 
Give me the permit, sir ! let me go and comfort my 
dying Fannie ! Oh ! I do beseech you ! ” 

“Will you have done worrying me? Major 
Hewitt is an old dotard ! The mercy you selfishly 
crave for yourself would be cruelty to all the other 
negroes ! Once more, and for the last time, I tell 
you, and I swear it by all the demons, I will not 
give you the permit!” 

“ Then, by the justice of heaven, I will go with- 
out it ! ” 


184 


CHIVALRY. 


“What?” 

“ I will go without it ! If I cannot pass the 
bridge, I will swim the river ! Aye, if it were a 
river of fire ! ” exclaimed V alentine, losing all self- 
control, and breaking into fury. 

“ Why, you audacious villain ! You shall not 
stir from this house ! ” 

“Neither man on earth nor demon from hell 
shall stop me ! ” broke forth the man, in a voice of 
thunder, striding off. 


CONFESSIONS. 


185 


CHAPTER XV. 

CONFESSIONS. 

I N an instant Mr. Waring had intercepted him, 
holding up a light cane, and exclaiming — 

“ Stand back, you villain ! ” 

Valentine came on with the evident intention 
of attempting to pass. 

Mr. Waring met him with a sudden, sharp 
blow with his cane across the face. 

And as Valentine, giddy, and blinded for an 
instant with the blood that streamed from the cut, 
staggered backward, Mr. Waring, by another 
heavy stroke with the loaded end of the cane, 
felled him to the floor, and proceeded to follow up 
his victory with several other severe blows. 

But Valentine was struggling to his feet, and at 
last sprang up — reeled, righted himself, cleared 
the blood from his eyes, glared around ; and just as 


186 


CONFESSIONS. 


Mr. Waring had broken his cane with a final stroke 
over his shoulder, V alentine saw and seized a heavy 
oaken stool, and aiming one fatal blow with all his 
force, struck his master in the face ! The heavy 
leg of the oaken stool, aimed with all the strength 
of madness, crushed the eye — entered the brain, 
and Oswald Waring fell, never to rise again ! 

But Valentine was maddened! frenzied! and 
showered blows upon the dying man like one uncon- 
scious of his acts, until the agonized screams of 
women brought him slightly to his senses, when he 
found himself seized between Mrs. Waring, who 
was, amid her frantic shrieks, trying to pull him 
away, and Plimdra, who was crying, distractedly, 
“ Oh ! Valentine, you ve murdered him !” 

He glared from one to the other, in the amazed, 
bewildered manner of one half-wakened from a 
horrible dream; looked at the mutilated form 
before him, looked at the strange weapon in 
his hand — the footstool, with its legs clotted with 
blood and hair; and then, with a violent start and 


CONFESSIONS. 


187 


an awful change of aspect, as if, for the first time, 
the reality, the horror, and the magnitude of his 
crime had burst upon his consciousness, he stood 
an instant, and casting the weapon from him, 
broke from the hands of the women, cleared the 
porch at a bound, rushed across the yard, leaped 
the fence, crossed the road, and plunged into the 

shadows of the cypress swamp beyond. 

& & :£ & & & $ 

That night as Fannie lay on the wretched bed 
of her poor room, in darkness and solitude, and in 
the semi-delirium of fever, suddenly an apparition, 
like some ghastly phantom of her husband, gleamed 
out from the surrounding shadows, stooped over, 
raised her in its ghostly arms, chattered, raved 
wildly, incomprehensibly, and — was lost ; whether 
really from the room, or only from her failing con- 
sciousness, is not certain — and, indeed, how much 
of this scene was an actual occurrence, and how 
much of it was the mere phantasmagoria of frenzy, 
the sufferer never knew. 


188 


CONFESSIONS. 


Eighteen months had passed since the murder 
of Oswald Waring, and yet the murderer had not 
been apprehended. Though, upon the night of 
that fatal catastrophe, both the regular and volun- 
teer police had turned out in great numbers, and 
scattered themselves over the neighborhood in 
pursuit of the criminal ; though trained sleuth- 
hounds had been made to smell his clothing, and 
had been set upon his scent ; though, thus with 
men and dogs, the authorities had hunted him 
throughout the State, and had offered the largest 
rewards for his betrayal or apprehension, this length 
of time had passed, and he had not been arrested. 

Mr. Waring having died intestate, his property, 
according to the laws of that Commonwealth, fell 
to the next of kin. 

His childless widow inherited none of her late 
husband’s wealth, but returned to New Orleans, 
and thence retired to the country, to live upon her 
own reserved patrimony. 

The plantation fell into other hands, and the 
planter passed out of memory. 


CONFESSIONS. 


189 


Valentine, with his crime and his fate, overlaid 
by newer excitements, was already sinking into 
oblivion. He was supposed to have escaped from 
the State. But there were three faithful friends 
who knew that, in all this time, the miserable 
young man had never left the neighborhood, or 
wandered five miles from the blood-stained floor of 
his crime. 

Phsedra was set free. The quadroons and 
mestizos, with all their fiery vehemence of tem- 
perament, have perhaps less of real vital stamina 
than any other race. They cannot bear up under 
any great mental or physical pressure. Phaedra, 
by the terrible blow that had fallen upon her, was 
crushed into premature age and decrepitude. And 
as a useless old crone, she was suffered by her new 
master to retire to a lone cabin, in the pine barrens 
above the cypress swamp, and, without being 
required to work, was supplied with rations of 
food and clothing upon an equal footing with the 
plantation laborers. 


190 


CONFESSIONS. 


But this poor Naomi, in her desolation, had also 
her Ruth. 

Fannie had almost miraculously recovered from 
the yellow fever; and, in the mental imbecility 
that had attended her convalescence, she had been 
long shielded from the knowledge of the calamity 
that had fallen upon them all ; and at last so 
gradually did the facts of the catastrophe enter her 
mind, that she could never after say when or how 
she first learned the sum of her misery ; and thus 
she was spared the sudden shock that must cer- 
tainly have proved fatal to her. 

No one could look upon that fragile form, and 
thin face, with its fair, transparent pallor, and 
large, mournful eyes, and not know her heart was 
breaking. 

What kept her life-power going? 

Something that was not the love of her child, or 
of her poor old mother ! Something that occasion- 
ally varied that look of hopeless, incurable sorrow, 
with a wild and startled expression of extreme 


CONFESSIONS. 


191 


terror, suggestive of insanity. Some people 
thought it was insanity, but they were mistaken ; 
her reason was sound, though her heart was 
broken. 

Fannie kept a little thread and needle shop ; she 
owed this little shop to the benevolence of Mrs. 
Waring ; for, to the honor of that poor lady be it 
spoken, even in the midst of her own awful sorrow, 
she had remembered and succored her humble 
sister in adversity. Fannie’s little shop thrived 
moderately, and afforded herself and child a decent 
living, and the means of alleviating some of the 
miseries and adding to the few comforts of her 
poor mother. 

Early every Saturday evening, Fannie would 
close her little shop, and take her child and walk 
out to Phmdra’s cabin, to remain until Monday 
morning. And these seasons, spent in reading the 
Scriptures, in prayer, and in mutual consolations, 
were the least unhappy in these poor women’s 
lives. 


192 


CONFESSIONS. 


Phaedra’s decrepitude confined her closely at 
home. 

But the brothers and sisters of her church did 
not leave her alone in her sorrow. They came 
frequently, they ministered to all her necessities, 
material and spiritual, -as far as she had need, and 
they had power. They held a weekly prayer- 
meeting at her house. 

And these Thursday evening meetings were 
sources of great comfort to the desolate woman. 

Fannie was frequently present at them. And 
the old negro preacher, Elisha, was invariable in 
his punctual attendance. There was also another, 
a constant, though an unknown and unsuspected, 
worshipper among them. 

Valentine’s name had long died off from every 
tongue, as his memory seemed to have expired 
from every heart. Even in comforting Phaedra, 
her friends never designated the nature of her 
grief; and, in praying for the Lord’s mercy upon 
their “aged sister in her sore affliction,” they 


CONFESSIONS. 


193 


never named that affliction’s cause. And though 
the unhappy man was remembered in their peti- 
tions, it was in silence and in secrecy. 

One Thursday evening, while the March winds 
were piping through the pine barrens, Phaedra 
was holding a prayer-meeting in her cabin. 

There were about twenty negroes, both men 
and women, present. 

Among them was the old preacher Elisha, who 
led the devotions. 

Fannie was also present, with her child. And 
the look of wild anxiety that occasionally varied 
the heart-broken expression of her face seemed 
now fixed; her usually patient, suffering counte- 
nance was absolutely haggard with terror, and 
strong shudders shook her frame. 

Phaedra watched her with great uneasiness. 
r Meantime the meeting went on in its services, 
and they sang, prayed, and exhorted in turn. It 
was not what is technically called a “ good ” meet- 
ing. Few seemed to enjoy the privilege of prayer, 
12 


194 


CONFESSIONS. 


or to possess the gift of exhortation. The very 
singing was tame and lifeless. There seemed to 
he some spell of heaviness cast over all. At last, 
toward the close of the evening, an aged brother 
arose, and began in a strain of such wild eloquence, 
as deep, earnest, fervid emotions confer upon 
untutored minds, to exhort his brethren and 
sisters of the church upon the subject of their 
apathy and lukewarmness. I can do no justice to 
that wild, eyrie style of oratory. It impressed, 
affected and strongly excited his hearers. He con- 
cluded with outre expressions and gesticulations : 

“And why, my brethren, is this freezing spell of 
spiritual cold cast over us? Why can we not 
pray, or exhort, or sing, or take sweet counsel 
together ? Why can we not love, or fear, or fed ? 
Why will not the Spirit of God come down to us ? 
Why will not the Lord inspire and accept our 
prayers? Is it because there is ‘some accursed 
thing hidden’ among us? Is there an Achan in our 
camp ? I charge you, brother, sister, whoever you 
be, repent! speak! cast the foul sin from your soul! ” 


CONFESSIONS. 


195 


He was interrupted by a deep, hollow voice that 
proceeded from an obscure corner, where a seem- 
ing old woman sat crouching ; her form enveloped 
in a long cloak, her head hidden in a deep sun- 
bonnet. 

“ Yes ! there is 6 an accursed thing hidden ’ in 
your midst ! and I am the Achan in your camp ! ” 
And the figure arose, and the cloak fell, and the bon- 
net was dropped, and the stranger stood revealed. 

“Valentine! Valentine !” cried Fannie, in a 
voice of agony. 

He crossed quickly through the astonished 
group, to the spot where she cowered. He stooped 
and spoke to her a few earnest words, and sat her 
down where she could drop her poor young head 
upon the lap of the trembling, sorrow-stricken 
Phaedra; while he stood up and gazed upon the 
crowd who remained, stunned with consternation 
into silence. 

Valentine was frightfully changed in the last 
eighteen months; his flesh had wasted from his 
bones, until it left him almost a walking skeleton ; 


19G 


CONFESSIONS. 


liis skin had darkened, and his eyes had sunken, 
and concentrated their fires until they burned like 
two imbedded stars ; his voice was cavernous. 
While the negroes joresent returned his gaze in 
silent awe, he spoke : 

“A price is on my head ! the Governor, or the 
State, will purchase and emancipate any man here 
who will deliver me up to death. It is written, 
that 6 a murderer shall hang on a tree!’ It is 
every man’s duty to deliver, if he can, a felon up 
to justice! It is every man’s duty here to pro- 
cure, if he can, his own freedom ! Therefore, it is 
doubly some man’s duty to take me into custody. 
I have determined to die for my deed ! Doubtless, 
I could go at any time, and surrender to the au- 
thorities. But in that case I should not do the 
little good I am now desirous of doing. I should 
not in dying procure some one of you his freedom ! 
Therefore, I wish that one of you would take me 

in custody, and attend me to M . Come, 

choose ! elect, or cast lots, for him who is to be the 
freeman. Brother Portiphar — ” 


WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 


197 


CHAPTER XVI. 

WIIAT SHALL BE DONE? 

B EFORE Valentine could say another word, 
the old preacher, Elisha, who had been 
gradually getting over his astonishment, and 
recovering his self-possession, climbed over stools 
and chairs and the crouching forms of women and 
children, and made his way toward Valentine, 
whom he embraced with his left arm, while he 
closed his lips, by laying over them his- right 
hand. 

“ Hush, brudder W alley, hush ! you don’t know 
what you’se a sayin’ of. You’se a prophesyin’ of 
de ole law ’stead o’ de new gospel! ’Sides which, 
would you temp’ any brudder here to sin an’ slave 
his ’mortal soul, sake o’ freein’ of his poor perishin’ 
body? Hush, brudder Walley, an’ let me pro- 
phesy. Bredren and sistei’s, is der a man or a 


198 WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 

woman in de soun’ o’ my voice as ’ould ’cept his 
free papers on de terms as brudder W alley offers — 
at de price of a brudder’s life an’ a sister’s happi- 
ness? Which ob yer here ’ould buy his freedom 
wid the price ob Walley’s blood, and Phcedra’s 
and Fannie’s tears? Would you, brudder Porti- 
phar ? or you, sister Deely ? or you ? or you ? No, 
not one ob you. Now, brudders an’ sisters, I’se 
got a proposition to make. Fust, bolt dat door, 
brudder Isaac, and see to de fastenin’ o’ dat 
winder, sister Hera; no ltnowin’ who’se ’bout. 
Now, let’s speak low. An’ what I want to pro- 
pose is dis yer : dat ebery brudder makes a pledge 
afore he leabes dis room to be silent as to which 
has happen here dis night. Let brudder Walley 
no more be lef’ in de power an’ temptations ob de 
enemy ; let him feel hissef free to ’tend our prayer- 
meetin’s here in peace an’ safety, for all as is hap- 
pened of to-night. Let us pray wid him, an’ try 
to ’lieve his poor soul ob its load o’ sin an’ 
sorrow ! ” 


WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 


190 


Elisha would have spoken longer, but here 
Portiphar arose, and said — in effect — that he 
did not fully agree with brother Elisha; that he 
doubted whether they should be doing right to 
conceal Valentine, especially when the conscience 
of the latter urged him to the expiation of his 
crime. 

Elisha could scarcely wait for the other to finish 
his remarks before he arose in a hurry, and said — 
in effect, if not in these words, and with some 
vehemence, also — that he was the last to make 
light of the guilt that Valentine had brought upon 
his own soul, but that he also knew, and no one 
else knew so well, the maddening provocation that 
had driven him to his crime. That he prayed the 
sin might be washed away by repentance and faith 
in the Redeemer; that for this reason he wished 
Valentine to feel safe in coming among them, to 
share their prayers, and hymns, and exhortations, 
and all their other means of grace — that, undis- 
mayed and undistracted by the worldly sorrows of 


200 WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 

imprisonment, trial, and impending execution, he 
might have time to work out his salvation ! That 
therefore he should shield his sinful brother until 
they could prove to him that the gallows was a 
means of grace, “ which I don’t believe it is,” con- 
cluded old Elisha, as he sat down in quiet triumph, 
for he saw that every man and woman among the 
warm-hearted creatures present coincided in senti- 
ment with himself, and that Portiphar was put 
down and silenced, if not convinced. 

And Phaedra and Fannie ventured once more to 
raise their drooping heads, and look about them. 
Alas, for their feeble hopes! Valentine, still 
standing, and still agonized, waved his hand for 
silence and attention, and then spoke. 

He told them he had already repented, if that 
were the word to express the horrible remorse of 
blood-guiltiness that had long preyed upon his 
heart, and consumed his flesh and blood, and left 
him what they saw him. But did they, he asked 
them, suppose that he had repented only since that 


WHIT SHALL BE DONE? 201 

fatal deed ? No, no ! but for years and years 
before that catastrophe he had suffered with that 
uncommitted crime. Did they think that the act 
was premeditated, then ? Yes, in one sense, it was 
premeditated, although entirely unintentional, and 
so abhorrent that he would have gladly died to 
escape committing it. The deed was premedi- 
tated, inasmuch as it had long loomed up before 
him, a black mountain* in his forward path of 
life, from which it was impossible to turn aside ; to 
which every breath and every step drew him 
nearer and nearer. That the first time he caught 
a glimpse of this awful phantom of his future was 
while he and Oswald were still boys. He had 
been provoked and exasperated to frenzy by his 
playmate, and, in his utter madness, had struck 
and tried to kill him. The reaction from that fit 
of passion had been terrible. The next occasion 
upon which arose darkly before him this inevitable 


* I use here the precise words of the unhappy man, as 
they were repeated to me. 


202 WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 

doom was when his master and himself were 
youths. One night he was driving Oswald home; 
both were intoxicated ; they quarrelled ; his mas- 
ter threatened him with the lash ; he lost his 
reason and his very eyesight, and all his senses, 
in a dark tempest and whirlwind of mad and blind 
fury, and struck with all his strength to destroy. 
By Heaven’s mercy that blow was not fatal. But 
the recovery of his own senses from that frenzy 
of anger was more horrible than anything he had 
ever before experienced. From that time he had 
never been able to exorcise the haunting presence 
of that black phantom, standing waiting for him 
at the terminus of his earthly path, from which 
he could not escape ; to which every breath 
and every step drew him nearer and nearer! 
From that time he had felt that in some baleful 
moment of extreme exasperation, some irresponsi- 
ble moment of mad and blind passion, he should 
strike a fatal blow. Yet he said he agonized in 
soul to escape that black crime ; he struggled to 


WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 


203 


conquer liis angry passions ; he sought the grace 
of God, and hoped that he had possessed it; he 
swore off from alcohol, that stimulus might not be 
added to his other excitements to anger — to the 
inevitable provocations arising from his tempera- 
ment, position, and circumstances — provocations 
that were constantly exasperating his soul to mad- 
ness. For years, he said, no eye but the Lord’s 
had seen the desperate war his spirit had waged 
with the powers of evil within and around him, 
and waged successfully, until one trying season, 
when, in the utter prostration of sorrow and des- 
pondency, he had been tempted to place again the 
maddening glass to his lips — tempted by the 
sophistry that prescribed the moral poison as a 
medicine ; then he lost the habit and at last the 
power of self-control, and one fatal day, when 
amazed and bewildered with exceeding sorrow, 
and stung' to frenzy with the sense of wrong- 
suffering and cruelty, he had struck the blow that 
laid his master dead before him. 


204 WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 

“ Heaven knows I was not thinking of doing it ; 
in my deep sorrow of the preceding days, the 
phantom of my predestined crime was exorcised. 
I had not even that to warn me ; the hour was 
entirely unguarded. I struck in self-defence. He 
had intercepted and knocked me down, to prevent 
me from going to see my sick wife. Blind and 
giddy, and furious, I struggled to my feet, and 
seized the first weapon that offered — a three-legged 
stool — and struck with all my strength ; but when 
I saw the leg crush through his eye and brain, one 
lightning thought told me that he was killed, and 
thenceforth all the world was against me, and I 
against the world ; and then waves of blood and 
clouds of fire seemed to roll up around me, and 
rage in a horrible tempest ; reason fled utterly, and 
I knew nothing more until near midnight, when I 
came to myself upon the floor of Fannie’s room ; 
and even then, in my vague remorse and horror of 
half-conscious blood-guiltiness, I seemed to be some 
other thing than myself — perhaps some lost soul 


WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 205 

in perdition ! Brother Elisha, Heaven bless him, 
was bending over me. It was to him I owed the 
preservation of my life. It was by his counsel 
and assistance that I disguised myself in poor 
Fannie’s clothing, which fitted me well enough for 
the purpose. He even crimped and braided my 
hair, and tied up my head in a woman’s turban. 
And he found and thrust Fannie’s free papers in 
my bosom, and then led me off to his own home. 
Well, in this disguise, and by keeping very close, 
I contrived to elude the vigilance of the police, 
until a surer place of safety was provided for me 
near this cabin. For eighteen months, I have 
eluded the police ; but think you, my brothers and 
sisters, that, for one moment, I have escaped the 
avenger of blood ? No ! no ! After the crime, he 
found me even in the first moments of my waking 
consciousness ; his clutch has never been relaxed 
from my heart ; it compresses now, even to suffoca- 
tion ; the death that you would save me from, I 
die every hour of my life ; I can bear it no longer ; 


20G 


WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 


I must die once for all, and have done with it; I 
should have resigned myself into the hands of the 
law, and, in the final expiation, long since found 
rest, but for Fannie’s grief and terror. But now, 
even her tears and prayers must not hinder me ; 
even for her peace, it is better I should give myself 
up to die, and have it over, for now she lives in 
the midst of alarms ; hereafter, when all is over, 
she will at least have quiet.” 

“ Quiet ! yes, the quiet of death, for I never can 
outlive you, Valley!” said ^Fannie, in a low tone 
of despair. 

He laid his hand fondly on her bowed head, but 
without comment, resumed his discourse. 

“ I was about to surrender myself to the public 
authorities, when I reflected that, by giving myself 
up to my brothers in the church, I might confer 
the blessing of freedom upon some one among you, 
since that was one of the rewards offered for my 
arrest. Here I am ! Which of you will make 
himself a free man to-night?” 


WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 


207 


He paused a moment, looking around upon the 
little assembly; and then, fixing his eyes upon a 
handsome, intelligent-looking, young man, to whom 
the gift of freedom might well seem the most 
desirable of goods, he said — 

“ Brother Joseph, will you take me into cus- 
tody?" 

“ May the enemy of souls take me in custody, 
and never let me go, when I do ! ” promptly replied 
young Joe. 

“ That’s you, my boy ! And may the same 
fate befall any one else who would do the like!" 
exclaimed old Elisha, emphatically. 

A murmur of approbation ran around the little 
assembly, and revealed the fact that the feelings 
of the majority were with the speakers. 

“Brudder Walley! You think yourself a very 
guilty man. But , no one ever craved freedom 
more than you did, and yet you knoiv you would 
never o’ bought your freedom at the price o’ any 
man’s life, no matter how fur forfeit his life might 


208 WHAT SHALL BE DONE? 

be ! An’ now, br udder W alley, please don’t think 
us so much wus than yourself.” 

When the little assembly heard this, with one 
voice (and one exception) they declared that they 
would die before they would betray Y alentine. And 
Elisha, to confirm their faith, went around with 
the Bible in his hand, and administered to each 
an oath of fidelity and silence upon the subject of 
Valentine and the transactions of that night. 

But when he came to old Portiphar, the latter 
declared that he had a scruple against taking an 
oath on the Evangelists, but readily gave his 
promise to be secret. 

Valentine, with grateful but troubled looks, 
regarded these proceedings, until Phcedra and 
Fannie, taking advantage of the popular senti- 
ment, came to him, and, one on each side, seized 
his hands, and besought him, for their sakes, not 
to cast away his slender chance of safety. 


A TRAITOR. 


209 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A TRAITOR. 


HAT was to be done ? Love was almost 



f y irresistible, and life, perhaps even at the 
worst, was sweet; he had come to the resolution to 
deliver up himself to justice; but that could be 
done at any time ; and for the present it could be 
deferred; he embraced his mother and his wife, 
and bade them rest quietly, as he would proceed 
no farther in the matter now. 

The meeting soon after broke up. 

One by one the members of the little commu- 
nity took leave of Valentine, promising to guard 
his secret, and remember him in their prayers. 

After all the others had departed, old Portiphar 
still lingered. And when the room was quite 
clear, he called Valentine to the door, and said — 

“ Brudder Walley, I’se a poor man, wid a fam’ly 


13 


210 


A TRAITOR. 


o’ chillun, an ef so be you’se ’termin’ on gibbin’ 
o’ yourself up, I wouldn’t mind walkin’ far as the 
squire’s office wid you mysef.” 

u Thank you, Portiphar, I will inform you when 
I need your services. Good-night,” replied • the 
young man, shutting the door upon him. 

Portiphar had not proceeded half a dozen steps 
on his way, before he felt himself seized by the 
shoulder, and he recognized as his assailant the 
strapping negro, young Joe, who, holding him 
tightly, said — 

“ See here, Daddy Fox ! I thought what you 
was up to ; so I stopped to give this ’vice ! Ef 
Valley’s took up, we shall all know who slipped 
the bloodhounds on him, an’ then some dark night, 
somethin’ will happen to you so sudden, you won’t 
never know what hurt you ! Taint only me ! but 
a great many more is a watchin’ of you ! ” 

And with this brief and pithy exordium, Joe 
released Portiphar, or rather spurned him forward, 
and went his own way. This threat put the old 


A TRAITOR, 


211 


man in a cold sweat of terror. He knew the 
strong fellow-feeling among his own class; that, 
even in the dangerous number of twenty persons, 
it would keep Valentine's secret; that he himself 
was suspected as a traitor; that, if Valentine 
should now be arrested, his own life might not be 
safe with those of the meeting who were not pro- 
fessing Christians ; and he resolved to guide him- 
self accordingly. 

Several weeks passed, in safety, to the wretched 
young man. 

But, released from the awful solitude and silence 
of his own heavily burdened soul, free to come 
among a few of his fellow-creatures, free to speak 
of the deep sorrow and remorse that consumed his 
heart, among those who pitied and shrank not 
from him, who prayed for and with him, Valen- 
tine’s mind began to recover its healthy tone ; he 
did not cease to mourn his crime, but he mourned 
no longer as one without hope; he was again 
received into the little brotherhood of the church, 


212 


A TRAITOR. 


the simple ceremony being performed in the lone 
cabin ; again he became the man of fervent prayer 
and eloquent exhortation ; and powerful, far more 
powerful, was he now, through his terrible experi- 
ences and profound repentance, than ever he had 
been. 

To his confidant, brother Elisha, he was accus- 
tomed to say : 

“1 know that I shall not finally escape the 
earthly punishment of my crime. I know that 
sooner or later it must come; nor do I wish to 
avoid it ; yet, will I do nothing to hasten its arri- 
val ; but when it shall come, I will accept it.” 

To which Elisha would reply : “ Our lives are 
in the hands of the Lord,” or words to that 
purpose. 

Weeks grew into months, spring ripened into 
summer, and summer waned into autumn, and 
still Valentine lived unmolested. 

At length, however, near the last of September, 
a rumor got afloat that Valentine, the murderer of 


A TRAITOR. 


213 


Mr. Waring, was concealed somewhere in the 
neighborhood of his late master's residence. How 
this report first got in circulation, no one seemed 
to be able to tell ; though how the secret known 
to twenty people, had been guarded so long, may 
be more of a subject for conjecture to many minds. 
Be that as it may, the peace of the unhappy little 
family was gone forever. Phaedra's lonely cabin 
in the pine barrens and Fannie’s humble home in 
the city were subject to sudden invasions and 
searchings by day and by night. Their weekly 
prayer meetings were surprised and broken up. 
But no trace of Valentine could be discovered; as 
unexpectedly as he had appeared, so suddenly had 
he again disappeared; the earth seemed to have 
swallowed him. 

But this could not last forever ; and upon the 
third of October, Valentine was arrested under the 
following suspicious circumstances : 

A police officer, stationed in concealment behind 
a hedge of Spanish daggers that bordered a lane 


214 


A TRAITOR. 


crossing the highway at right angles, and running 
midway between the pine ridge and the cypress 
swamp, saw what seemed a young negro woman 
coming down the lane. She was poorly and plainly 
clothed, and wore a long sun-bonnet. There was 
nothing whatever in her manner or appearance to 
attract attention. Yet this police officer watched 
her closely. Presently, coming up the lane from 
an opposite direction, appeared the figure of an 
old negro. The policeman favored him also with 
a share of notice. Meeting the seeming woman, 
the old man laughed, held out his hand, and 
exclaimed, in a clear voice — 

“Ha! Brudder Walley ! Good-morning! walk- 
ing out to take a little air, eh !” 

“ Hush ! for Heaven’s sake, don’t speak so loud, 
or call me by name. Yes, I have stolen forth 
for a breath of fresh air.” 

“ Glad to hear it. Which way is you walking, 
brudder Walley?” inquired the other, raising his 


voice. 


A TRAITOR. 


215 


“ For the Lord’s sake, I beg you will not call me 
by my name, or speak so loud ! ” 

“No danger at all, brudder Walley, no one in 
sight ! ” exclaimed the old man, louder than ever. 
“ Which w r ay did you say you wer’ goin’, brudder 
Walley?” 

“ I am going home.” 

“ Well, brudder Walley, let me go long wid you 
dis time. I’d like to see sister Phsedra,” pleaded 
the old negro. 

“Come along, then, but be careful.” 

They walked up the lane together, and then 
struck into the pines. The policeman followed 
them, and, himself unseen, keeping them in sight, 
traced them into the cabin of Phmdra. 

Then having, as it were, pointed his game, he 
ran back as fast as possible, sprang over the hedge, 
ran down the lane, crossed the highway, sprang 
over a second hedge dividing the road from Major 
Hewitt’s plantation, hastened up to that gentle- 
man’s house, gave the alarm, procured the assist- 


216 


A TRAITOR. 


ance of the overseer and the gardener, both Irish- 
men, and with this reinforcement hastened back 
to the scene of action. 

They found Phaedra’s cabin quiet enough. To 
the knock of the policeman, the old woman’s voice 
responded, “ Come in.” 

They entered, and found no one within except 
Phredra and the old negro preacher, Portiphar — 
no sign of Valentine. As the cabin contained but 
one room, with but one door and window, and no 
loft or out-buildings, the premises were easily 
searched. The little room was also very scantily 
furnished ; a rag carpet concealed the rough floor, 
a rude bed stood in one corner, a cupboard in 
another, an oak chest in a third, a pine table in 
the fourth; a couple of chairs, a few stools, etc., 
completed the appointments. The cupboard was 
opened; the big chest ransacked; the bed and 
bedstead pulled to pieces ; the chimney inspected ; 
but no trace of the fugitive could be found. 

Plnedra was questioned; but she sadly shook 
her head and remained dumb. 


A TRAITOR. 


217 


The old negro preacher was examined, but he 
replied, evasively, that he had just come, and 
knew nothing about it, while at the same time he 
kept his eyes strangely fixed upon the corner of 
the room occupied by Phsedra’s bed. 

Yet, the policeman had pulled that bed to pieces 
and found nothing, and now did not know what 
to make of Portiphar s pertinacious gaze. At last, 
a bright idea struck him. He took the poker, and 
began sounding the floor; he went on sounding 
foot by foot until he approached the bed; turning 
then, he saw Phaedra's face haggard with the 
most frightful expression of terror and anxiety; 
dragging the bedstead away by main force, he 
began to sound the corner; the floor returned a 
hollow echo; he was satisfied. 

It was but the work of a moment to turn up 
the carpet, to lift up a loose plank, and to discover 
the mouth of the excavation below. 

He knelt upon his knees, and peered down into 
the cavern; the mouth only opened in the corner 


218 


A TRAITOR. 


of Phaedra’s cabin; the cavern itself extended under 
and beneath the house. He peered down into the 
darkness for a few moments, and then called, in a 
not unkindly voice — 

“Valentine, my poor fellow, you may as well 
come out; the game is up with you ! ” 

A moment passed, and then Valentine, indeed, 
appeared above the opening. 

“ Give me time to change my dress, Mr. Pom- 
fret/' he said, for he was still in his woman s gown. 

This was granted. The change was soon 
effected, and he came forth and gave himself up; 
only saying, as they took him away, 

“ Mother, tell my friends that the traitor at 
your side betrayed me to death ! ” And he re- 
gretted these words as soon as they were spoken. 

Pheedra had not heard them — she seemed pray- 
ing — she had really fainted. 


FALSE HOPES. 


219 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


FALSE HOPES. 


IIE news of the arrest of Valentine spread 



1 rapidly over the city and surrounding coun- 
try, creating everywhere an intense excitement, 
and reviving all the deep interest that had been 
felt two years before, at the epoch of the crime. 

This excitement prevailed all around Fannie, 
yet she knew nothing of it, or at least of its cause. 
There was no one found willing to carry this sor- 
rowful intelligence to her, whom it most con- 
cerned; and she remained in total ignorance of 
the arrest of her husband until the next day, 
which being Saturday, she was looking forward, 
as usual, to an early closing of the shop, and a 
walk out into the country, to spend the night and 
the Sabbath with her old mother, and to comfort 
Valentine, when, unexpectedly, poor Phaedra, 


220 


FALSE HOPES. 


recovered in some degree from the shock she had 
received, and accompanied by Elisha, arrived at 
her daughter’s humble little home. 

With all possible consideration and gentleness, 
the old negro preacher broke the intelligence of 
Valentine’s imprisonment to Fannie. 

But, alas ! if all fateful antecedents had not led 
her to anticipate this consequence, what further 
possible preparation could fit her to receive such 
intelligence? And, indeed, in any event, what 
preparation would soften such calamity? 

Poor Fannie’s frame was very delicate, and her 
heart by many heavy blows had become physically 
feeble, and was, at best, a very impei'fect instru- 
ment of her will. Had it not been so, the poor 
girl might have better borne up; as it was, she 
succumbed to the new blow, and a night of dan- 
gerous illness followed. 

Yet, the next morning, Fannie insisted on 
leaving her bed, and though apparently more 
dead than alive, and having to be supported 


FALSE HOPES. 


221 


between Phaedra and old Elisha, she went to the 
prison to see Valentine. 

All prisons are, -of course, wretched places ; but 

the jail of M was one of the most wretched 

of its kind. Comparatively small, shamefully 
overcrowded, close, ill-ventilated, and pestilential, 
it insured nothing but the safe custody of the 
bodies of its miserable inmates. Evidently, reform 
had not even looked upon its outer walls, far less 
opened one of its doors or windows. 

For greater security, Valentine had been con- 
fined in the condemned cell. A slight irregularity 
that, but one of which no one had the right to 
complain. Although, under circumstances less 
tragic, it must have seemed ludicrous to associate 
the graceful and almost girlish delicacy of poor 
Valentine’s figure with danger to the security of 
bolts and bars and prison walls. 

Howbeit, in the condemned cell Valentine was 
placed, and there Fannie and her companions 
found him. 


222 


FALSE HOPES. 


. Yalentine received them with great composure, 
that was only slightly disturbed when Fannie, 
upon first seeing him, threw herself, with a cry 
of passionate sorrow, upon his bosom. 

When the turnkey had left the cell, and locked 
them all in together, Valentine addressed himself 
to soothing Fannie. And after a while, favored 
by the exhaustion that followed her vehement 
emotion, he succeeded in quieting her. 

After a little conversation, the old preacher in- 
vited all to join him in prayer, and, kneeling down, 
offered up a fervent petition for the divine mercy 
on the prisoner. Through the whole of the inter- 
view, all were impressed by the perfect composure 
and cheerfulness of Valentine. He seemed like a 
man who had cast a great weight from his breast, 
or in some other w r ay had been relieved from a 
heavy burden. Though his manner was perfectly 
free from any charge of reprehensible levity, there 
was certainly an elasticity of spirit in all he said 
or did, that was as strange as it was entirely 


FALSE HOPES. 


223 


sincere and unaffected. Was this because he 
felt that he had nothing further to hope or fear, 
and trouble had ceased with uncertainty? What- 
ever was the cause, his mood happily influenced 
others, and they grew quiet and cheerful in his 
company. 

“ Dearest friend, ” Valentine said, afterward, to 
Elisha, “ these things that have occurred were 
obliged to happen ; no power on earth could have 
prevented them ; and the power of Heaven never 
intervenes to perform miracles, or to avert evil at 
the expense of moral free agency. I am not 
a predestinarian, brother Elisha, but I know 
that certain causes must produce certain effects, 
as surely as given figures produce known 
results. 

“As I told you before I always knew that this 
was to be my fate. From the first moment that I 
was provoked to strike Oswald Waring, I have 
seen this crime and this fate before me like a hor- 
rible cloud. I would try to close my eyes to it — 


224 


FALSE HOPES. 


try to forget it. In vain — for even in my 
brightest moments it would fall suddenly like a 
funeral pall around me, blackening all the light of 
life. When poor Oswald Waring lay dead before 
me, I did not realize the crime more intensely 
than I had by presentiment an hundred times 
before. And when I shall stand, as I shall very 
soon do, upon the scaffold’s fatal drop, with the 
cord around my neck, and the cap that is about 
to shut out the last glimpse of this world’s sun- 
shine from my eyes, descending over my face — 
even in that supreme moment, I know I cannot 
feel the situation more acutely than I have done 
prophetically a thousand times before ! 

“ This prophetic feeling was the secret horror 
of my whole life. I dared not confide it to any 
one ; therefore it preyed upon my spirits, driving 
me at times almost to insanity. Yet, friends, 
there was nothing occult in this presentiment. It 
was but the swift and sure inference of certain 
effects from certain causes. It was rather a help- 


FALSE HOPES. 


225 


less foresight, than second sight. Well, the "worst 
has come ! I am calmer and happier now than 
I have been for many long, sad years. This fate 
is not nearly so horrible in reality as it seemed in 
anticipation. The only earthly trouble that 
I 'have is in the thought of my little family. 
Comfort them, brother Elisha! Help them to 
bring all the power of religion to their support. 
Time and religion cures the worst of sorrows ; it 
will cure theirs. Only, in the meantime — in the 
hour of their greatest trial, and the first dark 
days that follow it — watch over them, sustain and 
comfort them, and lift up their hands to God, 
Elisha.” 

“I will — I will, indeed, brudder Walley,” 
promised the old preacher. 

Valentine was not left alone in his trials. The 
friends of the Methodist church flocked around, 
and one or another was always with him. The 
clergymen of every denomination took a great 
interest in his situation and character. And the 
14 


226 


FALSE HOPES. 


better Valentine was known, the deeper this 
interest grew. In advance of his trial, the press 
took up his case, and the papers were filled with 
accounts of visits that this or that gentleman had 
made him ; conversations that one or another 
clergyman had held with him in his cell; and 
with descriptions of his good looks, graceful 
manners, intelligence, knowledge, conversational 
powers, and eloquence — all “ so remarkable in one 
of his race and station.” It would seem, indeed, 
as if, unhappily, the good points of the unhappy 
young man had never been known or suspected, 
until crime had brought him prominently before 
the public. If there was anything to be re- 
gretted in the great sympathy that was felt for 
him, it was, that the sympathizers kept up too 
much fuss around him for the good of one of his 
excitable temperament, and thus prevented the 
self-recollection and sobriety that befitted the 
solemnity of his situation. Through the kindness 
of these friends, the best counsel that could be 


FALSE HOPES. 


227 


prevailed upon to take up his hopeless cause was 
retained, to defend Valentine in the approaching 
trial. 

There was one affecting circumstance that oc- 
curred just before the sitting of the criminal court. 
Mrs. Waring had been subpoenaed to attend as a 
witness for the prosecution. She came up from 
Louisiana ; and, soon after her arrival in the city, 
she sought out the poor, little, obscure wife of the 
prisoner, and gave her what comfort she could im- 
part — telling her, that though she w r as the princi- 
pal witness, her testimony would not bear hard 
upon Valentine, whom she felt persuaded was 
mad, and unconscious of his acts at the moment 
she witnessed them. And that she hoped his life 
might yet be spared, for she felt convinced that 
capital punishment was in no case a corrector or a 
preventer of crime. And that, if the trial should 
terminate unfavorably, she would petition the 
Governor for a commutation of the sentence. And 
that her petition, under the circumstances, would 


228 


FALSE HOPES. 


be the most powerful that could be presented. 
These and other merciful promises and reviving 
hopes did the gentle-hearted widow infuse into the 
poor girl’s sinking heart. 

And oh ! how Fannie knelt, and covered the 
lady’s hands with loving kisses, and bathed them 
with grateful tears. And Mrs. Waring, when she 
left her, went directly to the most eminent lawyer 
in the city — one who had indignantly repulsed a 
clergyman who wished to retain him for the pris- 
oner — and, after telling him very much what she 
had told Fannie relative to the character of her 
own testimony, succeeded in retaining him to 
defend Valentine; for this gentleman seemed to 
think that the favorable opinion and testimony of 
Mrs. Waring would make a very great difference 
in the respectability, popularity, and security 
of the cause that he no longer hesitated to 
embrace. 

Of course, there was much diversity of opinion 
in regard to Mrs. Waring’s course. All wondered 


FALSE HOPES. 


229 


at her, many censured her, while a few saw in her 
conduct the perfection of Christian charity. But, 
like all who have thought and suffered much, and 
profited by such experience, Mrs. Waring was 
indifferent to any earthly judgment outside the 
sphere of her own affections ; and so, ignorant and 
regardless of popular praise or censure, the lady 
went calmly on her merciful course. 


230 


WILFUL MURDER. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


WILFUL MURDER 


HE day of the sitting of the court drew near, 



1 when, one morning, a bustle in the gallery 
leading to Valentine’s cell attracted the attention 
of the latter, and he had just concluded that the 
officials were bringing in a new prisoner, when 
the noisy group paused before his own door, un- 
locked it, and introduced Governor, Major Hewitt’s 
big negro. With a few parting words, the turn- 
key and the constable left him, went out and 
locked the door. 

Then for the first time Valentine recovered 
from his surprise, and spoke to the new-comer. 

But Governor, standing bolt upright until his 
tall figure and large head nearly reached the low 
ceiling, looked the image of stupor, and answered 
never a word. 


WILFUL MUEDEE. 


231 


Valentine knew, of course, that he was in des- 
perate trouble, or he would not be in that cell. 
Kindly taking his hand, he led him to the bed, 
and made him sit down upon it. He was as docile 
as the gentlest child, though seemingly more 
stupid than any brute. And it was hours before 
he recovered sufficiently to tell Valentine the cause 
of his arrest. 

The story gathered from his thick and incoherent 
talk was this : He himself was a huge, black, un- 
sightly negro, painfully conscious of his personal 
defects. He was married to Milly, a pretty mulatto 
woman, whom he loved with the idolatrous affec- 
tion that often distinguishes his race, and who had 
loved him in return, for the wealth of goodness 
under his rude exterior. 

And he had been very happy with his wife and 
two little girls, until the new overseer came. 

This person was a young, unmarried man, and 
his name was Moriarty. He took a fancy to 
MiHy ; used to stop every day at the door of her 


232 


WILFUL MURDER. 


cabin, to ask for a drink of water ; then, after a 
while, he got into the habit of going into her cabin 
to sit down and rest, and was never in a hurry to 
go away. 

If there was any work to be done in the over- 
seer’s house, Milly was always sent for to do it, 
and always detained a long time. Governor was 
despatched to labor upon the most remote part of 
the plantation; and whenever a messenger was 
required to go upon a distant errand, Governor 
was selected. 

Poor fellow ! he was not acute enough to be 
suspicious, or bad enough to be jealous. On the 
contrary, he was very good-natured, stupid, and 
confiding. And he might have gone on forever, 
without suspecting that there was anything wrong, 
had not Milly upon every Sunday and holiday 
appeared in finery better than any of her com- 
panions could sport, and so excited their envy, 
quickened their perceptions, and stimulated their 
tongues. 


WILFUL. MURDER. 


233 


And rudely enough were the poor husband’s 
eyes opened, and from that time no more wretched 
man than Governor lived upon this earth. He 
expostulated with Milly, who tearfully confessed 
to receiving presents from the new overseer, and 
protested her innocence of everything but their 
acceptance. And it is probable that up to this 
time, and for a long time after, Milly, who sin- 
cerely loved the ugly but good-hearted father of 
her children, was innocent of everything except 
vanity ; and could she have been delivered from 
the power of the tempter, would have remained 
blameless. 

But there was no such deliverance for her. 
And now commenced the most troubled life that 
could be imagined for the husband. He felt that 
Milly still loved him with undiminished fidelity, 
but he knew also the power of temptation and of 
example. How many virtuous women were there, 
on that or any other plantation? Why, virtue 
was not taught them — was not expected of them ; 


234 


WILFUL MURDER. 


and if they were bom with the instinct, it was 
soon lost among a class, where licentiousness was 
the rule, and integrity the exception. The gener- 
ality of this misfortune among his fellow-slaves, 
did not make it any the less painful to this poor 
man to see his beloved Milly tempted from his 
bosom. 

And he saw, with increasing anguish, that Milly, 
notwithstanding her penitence, and tearful declara- 
tion that she would be faithful to Governor forever 
and forevei’, could not prevent the daily calls of 
the overseer at her cabin, and dared not disobey 
his commands, when he summoned her to work in 
his house. 

Governor was still and ever kept at work upon 
the most distant parts of the plantation, and the 
overseer still and ever appropriated as much as he 
possibly could of Milly’s time and services. There 
•was no help for them. 

Major Hewitt, in many respects a kind master, 
had, for his peace, long closed his ears to com- 


V\ r I L F u L MURDER. 


235 


plaints of the slaves against their overseer, and 
Governor knew full well that his master would 
hear not one word against Mr. Moriarty. 

Why lengthen a sad story? All the women of 
the plantation knew that, sooner or later, Milly 
would have no right to look down from her pride 
of integrity upon them. Yet it was some time — 
more than a year — before she was numbered 
among the frail ones. 

And then, as guilt is so much more circumspect 
than innocence, poor Governor was deceived into 
a fool’s paradise of confiding love, and led to 
believe that the overseer had entirely abandoned 
the persecution of Milly. 

This blind confidence lasted until one day, when 
one of those sudden little breaks of water, so small 
that its surface might be covered with two hands, 
yet, withal, the herald of that terror of the Gulf 
planters, a devastating Ci crevasse,” appeared in 
the midst of a valuable field, and it became neces- 
sary to arrest its progress at once. 


236 


WILFUL MURDER. 


A party of negroes was despatched to the spot, 
and Governor was sent with them. In the course 
of a few hours, the crevasse had made dangerous 
progress, and they had to work until very late at 
night. But it was early when the overseer left 
them. 

It was between eleven and twelve o’clock, when 
a young negro, from the quarters, came down to 
the works, and, taking Governor aside, whispered 
something in his ear. 

Down went the man’s shovel, and away he 
sprung, and — all on fire with rage and jealousy — 
a man no longer, but an unreasoning brute — ran 
and leaped, bounding over everything that came 
in his way, and taking a bee-line to his cabin, the 
door of which he burst open. 

A moment, and the overseer lay dead, slain by 
the hand of the injured husband. 

Governor did not hurt a hair of Milly’s head ; 
even in his mad and blind rage, he had spared 
her, still so beloved. Neither did he attempt to 


■WILFUL MURDER. 


2B7 


save himself by flight, but lay moaning and groan- 
ing upon the cabin floor until he was taken into 
custody. 

This was the substance of the story related to 
Valentine : 

“ I’se sorry I killed him, brudder W alley ! dough 
I hardly knowed what I was a doin’ of. I’se sorry, 
dough it was all so tryin’ from fuss to las’. Yes ! 
I is berry sorry, dough it ain’t no use to say it, 
’cause I knows how, ef it wur to do ober agin, I 
should be sure to do it ober agin ! so, what’s de 
use o’ ’pentin’?” 

Valentine pressed his hand in silence, scarcely 
knowing what to reply just then, sadly thinking 
of the many thousands whose positions were just 
as false, as trying, as maddening, as his own and 
Governor’s had been. 

About noon that day, Major Hewitt came into 
the cell to see his slave. The Major was very 
much overcome at the sight of Governor, and 
spoke with great feeling. 


238 


WILFUL MURDER. 


“ Oh, Governor ! my heart bleeds for you, and 
for what you have done, my poor fellow! Oh! 
Governor, why, why did you take your revenge in 
your own hands, in this horrible manner? Why 
did you not, long ago , complain to me ? I would 
have seen you righted.” 

“Ah, Marse Major, you never would hear no 
’plaints we-dem made against de oberseer. It’s 
been tried often, and you never would ! ” 

“Yes, but my poor fellow! in such a case I 
would have listened to your complaint. I would 
have protected your family peace, at every cost. 
If necessary, I would have discharged Moriarty. 
Yours was an exceptional case, and I would have 
attended to it.” 

“Ah, Marse Major, honey! I dessay you think 
you would now, as it has come to dis yer ! But 
you wouldn’t o’ done it, Marse Major, honey ! 
’deed you wouldn’t, ’cause you see it has been 
tried afore , an’ you never would listen to nothin’ 
’t all ’bout de oberseer. It’s on’y ’cause it’s come 


WILFUL MURDER. 


239 


to dis yer; you tJimJcs different,” said Governor, 
sadly, but respectfully, and even affectionately. 

Major Hewitt did not reply; perhaps he felt 
that the slave had spoken the truth, for he looked 
extremely distressed, and told him that he would 
engage the best counsel to defend him; that no 
cost • should be spared, even to the half of his 
estate, to save him. 

And Major Hewitt kept his word, and hastened 
to secure the best legal aid to be had for Governor. 

The day of the trial was at hand. It was 
known that tivo were to be tried for similar of- 
fences. But every one was interested in Valen- 
tine, and no one, except his master, seemed to 
care one farthing for Governor. Those who saw 
him said he was “an ill-looking fellow,” and there 
left the subject. 

Valentine was the first arraigned. When his 
case was fully investigated, it was obvious to all 
minds, that on the fatal encounter in which Mr. 
Waring fell, Valentine had struck only in self- 


240 


WILFUL MURDER. 


defence — only after his own blood had been 
drawn, and he had been once felled to the floor. 
But then the blow had been fatal. And though 
he was well and ably defended, yet the verdict 
rendered against the prisoner was “ Wilful Mur- 
der.’' Valentine heard the verdict, and afterward 
received his sentence quietly, as a matter of 
course. At its conclusion, he bowed gravely, and 
was conducted from the court-room. 

When Valentine’s little family circle received 
information of the verdict that laid low their last 
hopes, Phaedra met the misfortune with that sad 
resignation which we often see in those whom 
either time or sorrow has aged, and which we are 
apt to think owes its calmness as much to the ex- 
hausted energies of the sufferer, as to any higher 
cause. Fannie heard the issue of the trial with 
wild grief, and a day and night of illness inter- 
vened before she could go and see the condemned. 

The conviction of Valentine was immediately 
followed by the arraignment of Governor. The 


WILFUL MURDER. 


241 


trial of the latter was even shorter than that of the 
former had been. He was ably defended by the 
counsel employed by his master; but nothing could 
have saved him. And the jury, without leaving 
their seats, brought in their verdict of “Guilty.” 
His sentence followed immediately. It was, how- 
ever, pitiable to observe that the poor wretch did 
not understand one-half of what had been done 
or said during the whole course of his trial. And 
when he was conducted back to the prison, and 
locked in with Valentine, he said to the latter, 

“Well, Walley, ole marse up dere on de bench 
put a black nightcap on his head, an’ said some- 
thin’ ’r other ’bout hangin’; but I reckon he only 
did it to scare me, ’case I saw by his face how his 
heart was a saftening all de time.” 

After his condemnation to death, Valentine’s 
friends were more devoted to him than ever. Day 
and night, one or more of the brethren of the 
church were with him. And one sister, especially, 
who was known by the name of “Sister Dely,” 
15 


242 


WILFUL MURDER. 


divided her attentions between him and his little 
family, who equally, or more, needed comfort. 
Again the papers were filled with descriptions of 
this “extraordinary boy,” as Valentine was called. 
Interviews held with him by clergymen were re- 
ported at length. His likeness was taken in 
prison, and wood-cutted in a pamphlet report of 
his trial. In a word, the unhappy young man 
became for a while a local notoriety. And this 
was ascribable, not to the nature of the catastro- 
phe, which unfortunately was but too common in 
that section of country, but to the individuality 
and character of the condemned. 

And another circumstance connected with this 
tragedy was so strange that I must not omit to 
record it. A rumor got out that old Portiphar 
had betrayed Valentine into the hands of the law, 
and that a number of negroes in secret meeting 
had sworn the death of the traitor whenever 
and wherever either one of them could take 
him. This matter was carefully investigated by 
those most interested ; but though they could 


WILFUL MURDER. 


243 


obtain no sort of satisfactory information, yet their 
suspicions, instead of being dissipated, were so 
strongly confirmed, that it was deemed advisable 
for the officers who had arrested Valentine to come 
out under oath with the declaration that Portiphar 
had not by the remotest hint put them upon the 
track, but that the discovery of the fugitive under 
the disguise of female apparel had been entirely 
accidental. 

This declaration, duly sworn to and attested, was 
embodied in a short address to be read to the 
negroes, printed on handbills, and posted and dis- 
tributed all over the city and surrounding country. 
And for some little time this was supposed to be 
quite sufficient to allay excitement and ensure 
security. But in a day or two it became evident, 
in some way, that the negroes did not believe the 
sworn statement of the police officers. And as it 
was thought best to get rid of unsafe property, 
Portiphar, who had lurked in concealment for some 
weeks, was sold by his master to a New Orleans 
trader, and the neighborhood breathed freely again. 


244 


RETRIBUTION". 


CHAPTER XX. 

RETRIBUTION. 

T HE petition to tlie Executive for the pardon 
of Valentine, got up under the auspices of 
Oswald Waring’s widow, failed of success, as every 
one had predicted that it must. And when this 
last little glimmering light of earthly hope went 
down, Valentine sedulously addressed himself to 
preparation for eternity. 

It was piteous to observe Governor at this time. 
Any one, to have seen him, must have perceived 
at once that Tie was no subject for capital punish- 
ment. But no one except his master and Valen- 
tine was the least interested in him. Alas ! poor 
wretch, he was not even interested in himself! 
When the refusal of the Executive to pardon 
Valentine had been received, it was affecting to 
see the efforts of Governor to console what he 


RETRIBUTION. 


245 


supposed to be the disappointment of his fellow- 
prisoner. 

“Don’t you mind, Walley! Dey’s only doin’ 
dis to scare we ! Sho ! dey’s no more gwine to 
hang we, nor dey’s gwine to heave so much money 
in de fire ! Sho ! we’s too walable. I heern de 
gemmen all say what fine walable men we was — 
’specially me ! Sho ! dere's muscle for you ! ” said 
Governor, drawing himself up, jerking forward 
both arms with a strong impetus, and then clap- 
ping his hands upon his nether limbs. 

“ Sho ! You think dey’s gwine to let all dat 
here go to loss? Ef it were only whippin’ now, 
dey might do it ! but making all dis here muscle 
dead ? Sho ! what de use o’ dead nigger ? What 
good dat do ? Sho ! ” 

And, with this strong expletive of contempt, 
Governor sat down. Strange and sad as was the 
fact, this poor, stupid creature was thoroughly 
persuaded that his own and Yalentine’s life were 
perfectly safe. He knew that, living, he himself 


246 


RETRIBUTION. 


was worth at least twelve or fifteen hundred dol- 
lars, for he had more than once heard himself so 
appraised; and that, dead , he was worth just so 
much less than nothing as the cost of his burial 
would be. And from these facts he drew the infer- 
ence that he was far too valuable to be executed. 
And he persisted in looking upon the whole train 
of events, comprising his arrest, imprisonment, 
trial and condemnation, with all the pageantry of 
court-room, judges, lawyers, juries, and officers, 
only as a solemn show, got up to frighten him and 
his fellow-prisoner. Nothing could disabuse him 
of this illusion ; for, if once any idea got fixed in 
his poor, thick head, it was just impossible to dis- 
lodge it. In vain Valentine endeavored to enlighten 
him as to his true position ; Governor would reply, 
with a compassionate look — 

“Oh, sho! you’s scared, Walley! yous scared! 
Tell me ! I knows better ! Dey’s not such fools 
as to hang we ! case what icould be de use , you 
know! Sho !” 


RETRIBUTION. 


247 


The Methodist preachers exhorted and prayed 
with Governor, to as little purpose. He could not 
be made to believe in the fact of his fast approach- 
ing death. 

j “Oh, sho, Walley! I doesn’t say nuffin ’t all 
afore dem, ’cause you see' ’taint right to give de 
back answer to de ministers; but dey’s league ’long 
o’ de oders, W alley ! Dey’s league ’long o’ de oders. 
Can’t scare dis chile wid no sich ! Tell you, Walley, 
dead nigger ain’t no use but dead expense! So 
what de use o’ hanging of him? Sho!” 

This interjection usually finished the argument. 

The day of execution approached. Valentine 
divided his time between preparation for death, 
interviews with his family and friends, and the 
composition of an address that he wished to 
deliver upon the scaffold. This address embodied 
a great portion of Valentine’s life — experiences, as 
they are already known to the reader. When it 
was finished in manuscript, it was submitted to the 
perusal of the attendant clergymen. Some among 


248 


RETRIBUTION. 


them warmly approved the address, and declared 
it to be the most eloquent appeal they had ever 
met. Others reserved their opinion for the time, 
and afterward asserted that it was the most power- 
ful sermon that they had ever seen or heard. 

The day before the execution came. And now 
I must inform you that it is to “ Sister Dely ” I 
am indebted for the report of the scenes that 
occurred in her presence in the condemned cell 
that day. Delia had obtained leave from her 
mistress, Mrs. Hewitt, to go to the. prison, to take 
leave of Valentine. 

It was about ten o’clock, on Thursday, the 23d 
of December, when she reached the city. All the 
town was preparing for Christmas. When she 
entered the condemned cell, she found no one there 
except the two prisoners. There were two cot 
bedsteads at opposite sides of the cell, and one 
small iron stove against the wall, between the 
beds, and directly opposite the door by which 
she entered. 


RETRIBUTION. 


249 


On her right hand, as she came in, sat Governor 
upon his cot, watching, with lazy interest, the 
employment of his fellow-prisoner, which in sooth 
was strange enough for one of his position. 

Valentine was standing at the little table, and 
engaged in ironing out a cravat, while on the cot 
near him lay spread out a shirt just ironed, a satin 
vest, newly pressed, and a full suit of black broad- 
cloth, well brushed. 

And Delia knew at a glance that the poor fellow, 
true to his habits of neatness to the last, was pre- 
paring to present a proper appearance upon the 
scaffold. 

“Was there no one to do that for you, Valen- 
tine?” said Delia, after her first greeting. 

“ No, child, there was not. Mother and poor 
Fannie are in too much trouble to think of such 
a thing.” 

“I would have done it for you, Valentine.” 

“ No matter, child ; it is done now,” said the 
young man, laying the folded cravat upon the cot, 


250 


RETRIBUTION. 


and then turning around and sitting down by the 
side of Delia. 

“ I wish, Delia, that you would try to open the 
eyes of Governor to the realities of his position. 
Poor fellow ! he is fully persuaded that to-morrow, 
instead of being executed, we shall be set at 
liberty.” 

Delia turned her eyes in wonder toward Gover- 
nor, who sat upon the side of his cot, smiling and 
shaking his head in the most incredulous manner. 
Delia shrank from the task that Valentine would 
have imposed upon her, and only said — 

“We will pray for him, brother Valentine. 
Governor, won’t you kneel down with us and pray 
for yourself?” 

Governor said that, as praying could not do 
anybody any harm, he reckoned he would, to 
please Delia, though he did not see the use 
of it. 

They all knelt, and this humble handmaid of 
the Lord, who was peculiarly gifted in prayer, 


RETRIBUTION. 


251 


offered up a fervent petition in behalf of the 
prisoners,, and especially of Governor. 

They had just arisen from their knees, when the 
door of the cell was opened, and the jailer entered, 
accompanied by another official, who nodded to 
the inmates, and then, beckoning to Valentine, 
requested him to step forward. 

Valentine obeyed, and the man, drawing a 
measuring-line from his pocket, told him to stand 
up straight. Valentine drew himself up with as 
much composure as ever he had shown, when, in 
his earlier days, he was getting himself fitted for 
a Sunday suit of clothes. The operator proceeded 
to measure his subject across the shoulders. And 
when this was done, he stopped, drew a paper and 
pencil from his pocket, and, leaning on Valentine’s 
late ironing-table, put down some figures. Then 
he took the line again, and carefully measured 
him, from the crown of his head to the heels of his 
shoes, and made a second note. 

Then, telling Valentine that he was done 


252 


RETRIBUTION. 


with him, he beckoned to Governor, who had 
been looking on with open-mouthed amazement, 
and who now came forward, and braced himself 
up with the utmost alacrity and cheerfulness. 
Indeed, he was smiling from ear to ear, as 
he exclaimed triumphantly — 

“Tell you all so! We ain’t had no winter 
clothes guv us yet, and dey’s done sent de tailor 
to fit us ! ” 

The operator with the line, on hearing this, 
dropped his measure, and, with emotions divided 
between astonishment and compassion, gazed at 
the poor wretch, who remained smiling in delight. 
No one else spoke, and, after a moment, the official 
picked up his line, and resumed his work. 

“Wen’ll de clothes be ready for we ?” inquired 
Governor, with great interest. A 

“ I am not taking your size for clothes,” answered 
the operator, gravely. 

“No! What den?” inquired Governor, in 
astonishment, but without the least suspicion of 
the truth. 


RETRIBUTION. 


253 


“ Don’t you know ?” 

“ No ! I doesn’t ! What is it ?” 

“Well, you know, at least, that you are to die 
to-morrow. And I am measuring you for your 
coffin.” 

Governor made no reply, neither did the smile 
pass at once from his face. He no longer refused 
to believe in his approaching fate, but the idea 
was very slow in penetrating his brain. 

The carpenter, having now completed his. 
errand, left the cell, in company with the turnkey. 
Governor went and resumed his seat upon the 
side of his cot, and remained perfectly silent, only 
not as cheerful as he had been ; and, occasionally, 
putting up his hand, and rubbing his head, and 
seeming to ponder. At last he said, dubiously, 
*, however — 

“ Brother Walley, honey, I’se beginnin’ to be 
’fraid, arter all, dat dey ’tends for to hang us, 
sure ’nough ! Dey wouldn’t carry de nonsense 
dis far, ’out dey did, would dey ? ’Sides which, 


254 


RETRIBUTION. 


dey wouldn’t go to de expense o’ coffins, would 
dey?” 

“No, Governor,” said Valentine, going over and 
sitting down beside him, and taking his hand, and 
continuing — “ Governor, by this hour to-morrow, 
you and I will be over all our earthly troubles.” 

Slowly, slowly, the truth was making its way 
to Governor’s consciousness. His face clouded 
over, but he seemed to grow more stupid every 
instant. To all Valentine’s speeches he answered 
never one word, not seeming to hear or to under- 
stand them. 

Delia could not bear this. Bursting into tears, 
she went and dropped upon her knees before 
Governor, and took his two hands in hers, and 
wept over them, and begged and prayed him, for 
his soul’s sake, to listen to her words. Governor * 
was only a recent acquaintance ; he was not, as 
Valentine was, an old friend- yet it almost broke 
her gentle heart to see him thus — so stolid, so 
unconscious, so insensible. 


RETRIBUTION. 


255 


They were interrupted again — this time by a 
clergyman and one other gentleman, a member of 
the church. 

Delia was now obliged to return home. She 
took an affectionate leave of Valentine and of 
Governor, telling them that she should pray for 
them constantly, and that she should be on her 
knees, praying for them, in their last hour of trial. 

The minister found Valentine well prepared to 
meet his doom. But when he turned his attention 
to the other condemned man, he found, to his dis- 
may, that he could not make the slightest impres- 
sion upon Governor. The unhappy creature no 
longer doubted what his doom would be ; but, as I 
said before, the truth very slowly entered his 
mind ; and, alas ! as it entered, it seemed to press 
him down, and down, into deeper and more hope- 
less apathy, until, at last, he sat there silent, 
senseless, crushed. They could not pray 'with 
him — they could only pray for him. 

The next day, Christmas eve, dawned brightly 


256 


RETRIBUTION. 


for almost all the world — darkly enough for the 
condemned. 

An early hour of the morning had been ap- 
pointed for the farewell interview between the 
prisoners and their families. Such partings are 
always distressing beyond conception, and I shrink 
from the pain of saying much about them. 

Governor had but few friends, his fellow-slaves, 
who came over very early in the morning to take 
leave of him, and who, finding him so apathetic, 
went away comforted, with the belief “ that 
Governor did not seem to mind it.” 

His miserable wife came alone, to drop weeping 
at his feet, and implore his dying forgiveness for 
the part she had had in bringing him to this awful 
pass. 

Governor, partially aroused from his torpor, 
awoke sufficiently to put his arm around her 
shoulders, and say — 

“ Don’t cry, chile ; I doesn’t bear you no malice ; 
you couldn’t help of it, chile, no more ’an I could ; 


RETRIBUTION. 


257 


things was too much for us bofe. Don’t cry, I 
loves you same as ever.” 

This gentleness almost broke the penitent 
woman’s heart, and she went away weeping 
bitterly, wringing her hands, and wishing most 
sincerely it were possible for her, the most guilty 
one, to die in her husband’s stead. After this 
visit, Governor sank into a still deeper stupor of 
despair, from which nothing had power to arouse 
him. 

Directly after this followed the last interview 
between Valentine and his little family. 

Phaedra and Fannie came in, accompanied by 
old Elisha, who carried little Coralie in his arms. 
I cannot describe the anguish of this parting. 

Phaedra perhaps bore it best of all, with a 
strange, hopeless fortitude, that reminded one of 
Governor’s stolidity, only saying, that though life 
was sorrowful, even at its happiest, it was, thank 
Heaven ! short at its longest ; and that she should 
not be many days behind her son. 

16 


258 


RETRIBUTION. 


But Fannie was wild with sorrow, and utterly 
inconsolable. Vfhen the moment of final separa- 
tion arrived, she fainted, and w T as borne from the 
cell, as one dead, in the arms of the old preacher. 
Phasdra followed, leading little Coralie. 

The execution was to be a public one. And 
the authorities published a card in the daily 
papers, formally inviting the masters of the city 
and the surrounding country to give their slaves 
a holiday upon this day, to enable the latter to 
attend the execution of Valentine and Governor. 
And as the morning advanced toward noon, so 
numerous was the multitude of negroes that 
gathered in from all parts of the country, and so 
great was the excitement that prevailed among 
them, that the powers saw the mistake they had 
made by issuing this general invitation, and felt 
great alarm as to the result. 

The marshal called upon the militia and the 
city guards to turn out and muster around the 
scaffold, to insure the safe custody of the prisoners 
and the execution of the sentence. 


RETRIBUTION. 


259 


The scaffold was erected upon a gentle eleva- 
tion, on the west suburb of the city. A crowd of 
many thousands, each moment augmented, was 
gathered upon the ground. But the two com- 
panies of militia made a way through this forest 
of human beings, and formed around the foot of 
the scaffold. 

It was about eleven o’clock that the prisoners 
were placed in a close van, in company with the 
marshal and a clergyman, and, escorted by a 
detachment of the city guards, were driven to the 
place of execution. The presence of the guards 
was needed to force a passage through the compact 
and highly excited crowd. The prison van was 
kept carefully closed, and the condemned, with 
their attendants, remained invisible until the pro- 
cession had passed safely through that stormy sea 
of human beings, and gained the security of the 
hollow square formed by the bayonets of the 
militia around the scaffold. 

The van drew up at the foot of the steps leading 


260 


RETRIBUTION. 


to the platform. The police officer that stood 
behind the vehicle jumped down and opened the 
door, and handed out the prisoners, who were 
followed closely by the marshal and the clergy- 
man. 

The marshal immediately took charge of Gover- 
nor, to lead him up the stairs. 

The clergyman drew Valentine’s arm within his 
own, to follow. 

And the police officer was joined by the deputy 
marshal, who brought up the rear. 

And so the sad procession ascended those fatal 
stairs — Governor, in a deep stupor, or looking as if 
he did not understand what all this pageant meant 
— Valentine, with grave composure, as if he felt 
the awful solemnity of the moment, and was pre- 
pared to meet it. The scaffold was very high, 
and was reached by a flight of more than twenty 
steps. 

When the prisoners and their escort gained the 
platform, they stood in full view of every individ- 


RETRIBUTION". 


261 


ual of that vast concourse of people. Their 
appearance was hailed by acclamation from the 
multitude below, and huzzas of encouragement or 
defiance, shouts of derision, and cries of sympathy, 
were mingled in one undistinguish able melee of 
noise. 

The prisoners were not prematurely clad in the 
habiliments of the grave, as is usual upon such 
occasions, but were attired in ordinary citizen’s 
dress. 

Governor wore his best Sunday suit of “ pepper 
and salt” casinet, and looked a huge, shapeless 
figure of a negro, in which the sooty skin could 
scarcely be distinguished from the sooty clothes. 

Valentine looked very well, though pale and 
worn. He wore a suit of black broadcloth, with a 
white cravat and gloves, and his natural ringlets 
were arranged with that habitual regard to order 
and neatness which was with him a second nature. 

Valentine held in his hands the manuscript 
address, that he wished to make to the assembly. 


262 


RETRIBUTION. 


He had been promised by the authorities an oppor- 
tunity of delivering this address, before the part- 
ing prayers should be said. He stood now with 
his copy in his hand, only waiting for the noise to 
subside, before his commencing. Governor stood 
by his side, in stolid insensibility. 

But Valentine had been deceived to the last 
moment; he was not to be permitted to deliver 
that address; the authorities feared too much its 
exciting effect upon the tumultuous assembly 
below. The marshal had received his instruc- 
tions, and had given private orders to his deputy 
and assistants. 

Valentine was still letting his eyes rove over 
the “multitudinous sea” of heads, waiting for a 
calm in which he might be heard, when his eye 
fell upon Major Hewitt, who had been absent all 
day at the capital, and had but just returned from 
his last fruitless attempt to move the Executive 
in behalf of the condemned, and who, without 
leaving his saddle, had ridden up at once to the 


RETRIBUTION. 


263 


scene of execution. He could not penetrate the 
crowd, but remained on horseback on its outskirts. 
At the same moment, the figure of Major Hewitt 
caught the eye of Governor, and roused him from 
the torpor of despair into which he had fallen — 
roused him to an agony of entreaty, and stretch- 
ing out his arms to his master, he cried, with a 
loud voice, that thrilled to the hearts of all 
present — 

“ Oh, marster ! I alius looked up to you as if 
you Avere my father and my God ! Save me now ! 
save me from under the gallows! Oh, marster!” — 

Major HeAvitt turned precipitately, and galloped 
aAvay from the scene. 

The condemned Avere not aware that they stood 
upon the fatal trap-door. They did not notice, 
either, that, at a signal from the marshal, the 
attending clergyman stepped aside, and the deputy 
and assistants gathered in a little group behind. 
Governor still had his arms extended in wild 
entreaty after his flying master, and Valentine 


264 


RETRIBUTION. 


was still waiting for silence, when suddenly, in the 
twinkling of an eye, their arms were bound, the 
cords slipped over their heads, the cap drawn 
over their eyes, the spring of the holt touched, 
and without one instant’s warning, or one word 
of prayer or benediction, they fell, and swung 
between sky and earth. 

“ In the name of heaven ! why have you done 
this thing?” asked the terribly-shocked minister, 
who was altogether unprepared for the suddenness 
of the execution. 

“ In another five minutes an attempt would 
have been made at rescue,” answered that official. 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


265 


CHAPTER XXI. 


CHRISTMAS EVE 


HIS tragedy spoiled the Christmas festivities 



JL of many more than were immediately con- 
nected with the sufferers. If the reader cares to 
follow the sad fortunes of the survivors, I have 
only to tell them that Phaedra outlived her son 
but one short month; and Mrs. Waring kindly 
took Fannie and her child away from the scene 
and associations of their calamity, to her own quiet 
and beautiful country home in East Feliciana. 
Major Hewitt became a “sadder,” and, let us hope, 
“ a wiser man,” since he never after closed his 
ears to the complaints of his suffering people. 

One word more. This tragic story, in which I 
have endeavored to interest you, is, in all its essen- 
tial features, strictly true. Not that I mean to 
say, that in all the scenes, word followed word 
precisely in the order here set down, though gen- 


236 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


erally the language used has been faithful to the 
letter, and always to the spirit, of the facts. Val- 
entine and Governor lived, suffered, sinned, and 
finally together died, for the causes and in the 
manner related. The tragedy occurred near the 
plantation of a dear friend, with whom I was 
accustomed to pass a part of every year. From 
that friend I heard the story — a domestic tragedy, 
which, for its inspirations of pity and terror, 
equalled any old Greek drama that I ever read. 
It excited at the time great local interest, but 
never probably got beyond “ mere mention ” in 
any but the local papers. In relating it, I have 
delivered “ a round, unvarnished tale,” and have 
not colored the truth with any adventitious hue 
of fancy. The subject was too sacred, in its dark 
sorrow, for such trifling. Only, for the sake of 
some survivors, a change of names and a slight 
change of localities has been deemed proper. 


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The Coquette; or, the Life and Letters of Eliza Wharton, 1 75 

The Pride of Life. A Story of the Heart. By Lady Jane Scott...... 1 75 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court, 1 75 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 1 75 

The Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 75 
Memoirs of Vidoeq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, 1 75 
Camors. “The Man of the Second Empire." By Octave Feuillet,.. 1 75 
The Belle of Washington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 
Cora Belmont; or, The Sincere Lover. A True Story of the Heart,. 1 75 
The Lover's Trials; or Days before 1776. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison, 1 75 
High Life in Washington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 

The Beautiful Widow; or, Lodore. By Mrs. Percy B. Shelley, 1 75 

Love and Money. By.J. B. Jones, author of the “Rival Belles,"... 1 75 
The Matchmaker. A Story of High Life. By Beatrice Reynolds,.. 1 75 
The Brother’s Secret ; or, the Count Do Mara. By William Godwin, 1 75 

Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


O* Above Bocks will b© s©nt, postage paid, on Receipt of Retail Prices 
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6 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following hooks are each issued in one large duodecimo volume t 
hound in cloth f at $1.75 each f or each one is in paper cover at $1.50 each. 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated, ...$1 75 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, price $1.00 ; or cloth,.. 1 75 

Camille; or, the Fate of a Coquette. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

The Lost Love. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “ Margaret Maitland,” 1 75 
The Roman Traitor. By Henry William Herbert. A Roman Story, 1 75 

The Bohemians of London. By Edward M. Whitty, 1 75 

The Rival Belles; or, Lite in Washington. By J. B. Jones, 1 75 

Wild Sports and Adventures in Africa. By Major W. C. Harris, 1 75 
Courtship and Matrimony. By Robert Morris. With a Portrait,... 1 75 

The Jealous Husband. By Annette Marie Maillnrd, 1 75 

The Refugee. By Herman Melville, author of “ Omoo,” “ Typee,” 1 75 

The Life, Writings, and Lectures of the late “ Fanny Fern,” 1 75 

The Life and Lectures of Lola Montez, with her portrait, 1 75 

Wild Southern Scenes. By author of “Wild Western Scenes,” 1 75 

Currer Lyle; or, the Autobiography of an Actress. By Louise Reeder. 1 75 

The Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton Randolph. Illustrated, 1 75 

The Little Beauty. A Love Story. By Mrs. Grey, 1 75 

Lizzie Glenn ; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. By T. S. Arthur, 1 75 

Lady Maud; or, the Wonder .of Kingswood Chase. By Pierce Egan, 1 75 

Wilfred Montressor ; or, High Life in New York. Illustrated, 1 75 

The Old Stone Mansion. By C. J. Peterson, author “ Kate Aylesford,” 1 75 
Kate Aylesford. By Chas. J. Peterson, author “ Old Stone Mansion,”. 1 75 

Lorrimer Littlegood, by author “ Harry Coverdale’s Courtship,” 1 75 

The Earl’s Secret. A Love Story. By Miss Pardoe, 1 75 

The Adopted Heir. By Miss Pardoe, author of “ The Earl’s Secret,” 1 75 
Coal, Coal Oil, and all other Minerals in the Earth. By Eli Bowen, 1 75 

Secession, Coercion, and Civil War. By J. B. Jones, 1 75 

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Jealousy; or, Teverino. Bv George Sand, author of “ Consuelo, etc. 1 50 
Six Nights with the Washingtonians, Illustrated. By T. S. Arthur, 3 50 
Comstock’s Elocution and Mo<iel Speaker. Intended for the use of 
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Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By 
Andrew Comstock and Philip Lawrence. With 236 Illustrations.. 2 00 
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Love and Liberty, ( l7y2-’9<3) .. 1 50 

Camille; or, The Fate of a Coquette, 
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er, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


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Mary Price, $1 00 

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The Rye-House Plot,. 

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The Gipsy Chief,. 


00 

00 

00 

00 

00 


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The Opera Dancer, 75 

Child of Waterloo, 76 

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Countess of Lascelles, 75 

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Massacre of Glencoe, 75 

Loves of the Harem, 75 

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May Middleton, 75 


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Charles O’Malley, 75 

Harry Lorrequer, 75 

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Knight of G wynne, 75 


Above are in paper cover, or a fine edition is in cloth at $2.00 each. 

A Rent in a Cloud, 50 j St. Patrick’s Eve, 50 

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MRS. HENRY WOOD'S BEST BOOKS. 


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"Within the Maze, 1 50 

Dene Hollow, 1 50 

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George Canterbury’s Will, 1 50 

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The Channings, 1 50 


The Shadow of Ashlydyafc, $1 50 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir, 1 50 

Oswald Cray, 1 50 

Mildred Arkell, 1 50 

The Red Court Farm, 1 50 

Elster’s Folly, 1 50 

Saint Martin’s Eve, 1 50 


Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings,” 1 50 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or, The Earl’s Heirs, 1 50 

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The above arc each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


The Mystery, 


75' A Life's Secret,. 


The Lost Bank Note, 50, The Haunted Tower. 

The Lost Will, 50 

Orville College, 50 

Five Thousand a Year, 25 

The Diamond Bracelet, 25 

Clara Lake’s Dream, 25 

The Nobleman’s Wife, 25 

Frances Hildyard, 25 


50 

50 

The Runaway Match, 25 

Martyn Ware’s Temptations,... 25 
The Dean of Denham, 25 


Nitrht at Offord, 


William Allair, 

A Light and a Dark Christmas, 
Ghost 


25 

25 

25 

25 


EUGENE SUE’S GREAT W0E1IS. 


The Wandering Jew, $1 50 

The Mysteries of Paris, 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling, 1 50 

Above are in cloth at $2.00 each. 


First Love 

Woman’s Love, .... 

Female Bluebeard, 
Man-of-War’s- Man, 


Life and Adventures of Raoul do Surville. A Tale of the Empire,. 


50 

50 

50 

50 

25 


TTfl 

£kb. 


WILLIAM II. MAXWELL'S WOE 

Wild Sports of the Yv r est, 75 I Brian O’Lynn, 

Stories of Waterloo, 75 I Life of Grace O’Malley, 


75 

50 


-o © o- 

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asr-MHS. SOUTHWORTH’S NEW BOOK. “©8 



or, out of the depths, 

Js now Complete in HooJc Form, in Two Volumes . JVrice $1.75 each , or 
$3.50 a set, and is issued under the names of 



MRS. E. D. E. JT. SOUTH WORTH’S COMPLETE WORKS. 

Complete in .forty-two volumes , bound in morocco cloth , with a full gilt bacic, prict 
1.75 each ; or $73.50 a set, each sU in a neat box . The following are their names : 

Mrs. Southworth’s “ Mother-in-Law; or, Married in Haste.” 
Ishmael ; or. In the Depths— being “ Self-Made. 

Self- liaised ; or. From the Depths, sequel to “Lhmael.” 


The Fatal Secret. 
Cruel as the Grave. 
Tried For Her Life. 
Fair Play. 

The Lost Heiress. 
How He Wo.n Her. 
The Maiden Widow. 
Victor’s Triumph. 
The Family Doom. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 
The Bride’s Fate. 
Bride of Llewellyn. 
The Changed Brides. 
The Spectre Lover. 
Prince of Darkness. 
The Christmas Guest. 
Fallen Pride. 

The Fortune Seeker. 
Betribution. 

The Bridal Eve. 


The Fatal Marriage. 

Love’s Labor Won. 

The Deserted Wife. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy. 

Lost Heir Linlithgow. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia; Secret of Power. 

The Artist’s Love. 

Allworth Abbey. 

The Two Sisters. 

Discarded Daughter. 

The Widow’s Son. 

Wife’s Victory. 

The Missing Bride. 

Lady of the Isle. 

The Haunted Homestead. 
The Curse of Clifton. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl Biver, 
Mystery of Dark Hollow. 


u 


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600,000 COPIES WILL BE SOLD. 

1‘E.W Gnu, OF HIiwe. 

BY ONE OF OUR MOST POPULAR AUTHORS. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 

THE AMOURS OF PHILLIPPE. 

A HISTORY OF “PHILLIPPE’S LOVE APPAIES.” 

BY OCTAVE FEVILLET. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH EY MARY NEAL SHERWOOD. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cioth, Gilt ar.d Black, $I.CG. 

By Author of “ That Lass o’ Lowrie’s.” 

66 JT E O 99 

BY MBS. FBANCES HODGSON BUBNETT. 

Author of “ That Lass o’ Lowrie’s.” 

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Hussies Six Scoters, 

A CHARMING BOOK, BY A NOTED AUTHOR. 

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MBS. SOUTHWORTH'S “MOTHER-IN-LAW.” 

THIS IS THE BOOH OF THE SEASON. 

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"That Zsoirnn. ©f Miie. 

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MRS. SOUTH WORTH’S ‘MOTHER-IN-LAW.* 


THE 



BY MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 


Mrs. Southworth stands at the head of all American story-writers, and her numerous 
fictions have always had a large circle of appreciative readers. Her “ Motlier-in-Law ” 
is thought to be her best production ; but, however opinion may differ on that point, there 
can be no possible denial that her “ Motlier-in-Law ” is a very excellent and interesting 
novel. Its plot is strong, complicated and w^ell wrought out, indeed it has several plots. 
In it the highest and purest sentiments are developed, and the darker shades of life used 
only as lessons of instruction. Pathos and humor are a 1 , tistically mingled in its pages. 
There are many fine descriptive passages, those relating to the Isle of Rays being 
especially worthy of remark. The scene of the story is laid principally in "Virginia, 
but some of the action transpires in New Orleans. The work teems with startling inci- 
dents and stirring adventures, wiiich, though sensational, are never overstrained. Mrs. 
Southworth’s productions are all noted for their originality of style and matter, and 
her “Motlier-in-Law” is no exception to the rule. Besides, the ingenuity and versa- 
tility of its authoress were never more conclusively displayed than in the various chapters 
of her “ Mother-in- Law.” The coloring L rich and the general effect more than pleas- 
ing. The characters are sharply defined, and each one of them is a naturally and 
vigorously sketched portraiture, the counterpart of which may be found without difficulty 
in actual life. Mrs. Armstrong, the “ Mothei -in-Law,” may be described as a she-fiend, 
and her machinations cause the bulk of the complications and troubles in the tale. 
She is thoroughly individualized, and pictured with vi\id pencil strokes. There are 
several heroines, all of whom are reasonably prominent, whose leading characteristics 
form strong contrasts. Brighty O’Riley is a charming creation, and so is Zoe, the child of 
mystery. Louise Stuart-Gordon is a weak body, altogether under the control of her 
scheming mother, and Susan Summerfield is a young lady of the loving and angelic 
type. Oertrude Lyon is a self-reliant, modern Amazon, and goes through the book like 
a hurricane. There is also a slave girl, Anna, a cleverly depicted per-onage, inspiring 
much interest and sympathy. Louise Stuart-Gordon and Brutus Lyon may be styled 
the heroes. The former is poetical and weak, and the latter practical and strong, in 
fact, a companion-picture to his sister Gertrude. Taken as a whole, Mrs. Southworth’s 
“Mother- in- Law” is an excellent work, and deserves to be largely read. 


“ JVlother-in-Law ” is in Morocco Cioth, in Gold and Black.— Price $1.75, 


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A SUMMER IDYI 


A CHARMING ROOK— BY A NOTED AUTHOR. 


“BESSIE’S SIX LOVERS” is an excellent story of Summer Life 
in the country, and describes an unusual type of a New York belle, who, 
worn out by the gayeties of a winter’s campaign, and smarting under the 
deception of a man she was to marry, determines upon a visit to some 
Quaker relatives in the country, where she will meet no other society ; but 
upon her arrival there, she finds that six young Philadelphians are coming 
to stay in the same house, and, not caring to meet such a formidable army, 
resorts to the novel experiment of climbing a tree, where she thought she 
could avoid the enemy, and go it alone. The young men, however, are not 
content to stay in doors, but saunter to the lake-side, and there sit down 
near the same tree, and discuss the probable merits of their host’s niece, 
whom they believe to be an out-and-out country -girl. Bessie made many 
attempts on their credulity, but failed utterly at last to keep up her incog . 
She soon became a great favorite with them all, and owing to her sweet 
and winsome manners was crowned their “ Queen.” In fact, each one of 
them was in love with her, but two of them, Tholmey and Fred, had quite 
lost their hearts. Thorney was drowned by the upsetting of a row-boat, 
a id Fred became the accepted lover. After four weeks of pleasuring, 
they all returned home. A short time after, Bessie returned to New' York, 
where Fred soon followed her, and was afterwards married. Certainly, she 
managed them well, and her fair sisters in search of knowledge could not 
do better than read “ BESSIE’S SIX LOVEiiS,” and follow her example. 

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OCTAVE FEtJXLLET’S GREATEST WORK. 



AUTHOR OF “ CAMORS ; A LOVE STORY. 


THE AMOURS OF PHILLIPPE; A HISTORY OP PHILLIPPE’S LOVE 

AFFAIRS? by Octave Feuillet, translated from tlie French, complete and unabridged, 
by Mrs. Mary Neal Sherwood, is published this day by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadel- 
phia. This is a story altogether worthy of its author’s great reputation. There is no 
French writer of this day who excels Octave Feuillet in the direct aud forcible presenta- 
tion of character, and in a simple, unsophisticated and yet perfectly artistic narrative. 
The three types of French women that appear in this story are not only types; they are 
real woman, whose characters are understood, not from the author’s description, but 
from their own words aud act3. The incidental characters are equally real, and the 
whole setting of these figures is most gracefully painted. The reader feels, without any 
need of having his attention called to it, the contrast between the world of Paris and 
the quiet and dignified life at the chateau, which so impresses the hero’s mind and in 
effect redeems his life. There is no moralizing or explaining anything; the author has 
simply to tell a story, and he tells it in the simplest possible way, but with a dramatic 
skill that engages the reader’s attention completely and with a delicacy that is altogether 
charming. Though the people, the mode of life, the incidents, are altogether French, it 
is real people and a real human life that the author depicts, and not that artificial, stage 
existence which most of the modern French novelists present to us and which cannot 
possibly awaken the sympathy of an English or American reader. It is in this that tho 
story, with all its Frenchiness, is far above its class, and is a really excellent example 
of a simple and artistic piece of fiction. The volume is issued very neatly, in uniform 
style and price with Mrs. Burnett’s “Tlieo,” “Bessie’s Six Lovers,” “That Girl of 
Mine,” “The Amours of Phillippe,” and Mrs. Southworth’s “ The Red Hill Tragedy.” 


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OF GOOD MB NEW NOVELS 

ARE THE BEST, THE LARGEST, THE HANDSOMEST, 
AND THE CHEAPEST BOOKS IN THE WORLD. 

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“PETERSONS’ DOLLAR SERIES” OF GOOD AND NEW 
NOVELS. Something entirely new in literature is a series of choice works of fiction 
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gold and black sides and back, and are sold at the low price of One Dollar each, while 
they are as large and as handsome as any book.s published at $1.75 and $2.00 each. The 
following popular books have already been issued in the “Dollar Series,” and a 
new one will be added to the series every month. 

COUNTRY QUARTERS. By the Countess of Blessingto- 

MY SON’S WIPE. By the Author of “ Caste." 

THE HEIRESS IN THE PAMILY. By Mrs. Daniels. 

SARATOGA ! AND THE EAMOUS SPRINGS. A Love Story. 

SELF-LOVE, A Book for Young Ladies and for Women. 

THE MAN OF THE WORLD. By William North. 

THE QUEEN’S FAVORITE ; or, The Price of a Crown. 

THE CAVALIER. A Novel. By G. P. R. James, with his Portrait. 

OUT OF THE DEPTHS. The Story of a Woman’s Life. 

A WOMAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. By Miss Muloch. 

COLLEY CIBBER’S LIFE OP EDWIN FORREST. 
ff LOVE AND DUTY, A Love Story. By Mrs. Hubback. 

THE DEVOTED BRIDE. Ey St. George Tucker, of Virginia. 

PARSE PRIDE | or, TWO WAYS TO MATRIMONY. 

rURTATIQNS IN FASHIONABLE LIFE, by Catharine Sinclair. 

JZD* “ Petersons * Dollar Series” will be found for sale by all Booksellers, 
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PETERSONS’ ‘STERLING SERIES’ 

OF NEW AND GOOD BOOKS. 

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“PETERSONS’ STERLING SERIES OF NEW AND GOOD 

BOOKS” are all issued unabridged and entire, in unif rin style, and are printed from 
1 irge type, in octavo form, price Seventy-five cents each in paper cover, with the edges 
cut open all around ; or One Dollar each, bound in mor< cco cloth, black and gold, and 
is the most popular series of Books ever printed. The following works have already 
been issued in this series, and a new one will follow every two weeks in the same style, 
same size, and at the same low price. 

SALATHIEL; THE WANDERING JEW. By Rev. George Croly. 
AURORA FLOYD. A Love Story. By Miss Braddon. 
MARRYING FOR MONEY. A Love Story in Real Life. 
THACKERAY’S IRISH SKETCH BOOK. With 38 Illustrations. 
EDINA. A Love Story. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 

GGRINNE; OR, ITALY. By Madame De Stael. 

CV^vLA. A Love Story. By author of “ The Initials.” 

FLlr. i ATIONS IN AMERICA; or, HIGH LIFE IN NEW YORK. 
THE COQUETTE. A Tale of Love and Pride. 

CHARLES O’MALLEY, The Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever. 
THE FLIRT. By author of “ The Gambler’s Wife.” 

THE DEAD SECRET. By Wilkie Collins. 

THE WIFE’S TRIALS. By Miss Pardoe. 

THE MAN WITH FIVE WIVES. By Alexander Dumas. 

HARRY LORREQUER. By Charles Lever. 

PICKWICK ABROAD. Illustrated. By G. W. M. Reynolds. 
FIRST AND TRUE LOVE. By George Sand. 

THE MYSTERY. A Love Story. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 

THE STEWARD. By author of “Valentine Vox.” 

BASIL; or, THE CROSSED PATH. By Wilkie Collins. 
POPPING THE QUESTION. By author of “The Jilt.” 

THE JEALOUS WIFE. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 

SYLVESTER SOUND. By author of “Valentine Vox.” 

THE CONFESSIONS OF A PRETTY WOMAN. 

THE RIVAL BEAUTIES. By Miss Pardoe. 

VVHITEFRIARS ; Or, The Days of Charles the Second. 

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Kir THE BOOK OP THE YEAR, “©a 



LOYS STORY. 

BY ONE OF OUR MOST POPULAR AUTHORS. 


“THAT GIRL OF MIME” will he font.d to be one of the most 
brilliant novelettes of the season. On the simplest thread of plot is 
strung a story remarkable for telling situations; in no wise improbable, 
full of verve , and the fruit of a minute observation of society, with a vein 
of humor running through it, it will achieve a pronounced success. 
Mabel Vincv’s night-ride with her lover’s enemy, Stephen Mackenzie, 
is described w r ith an intensity and simplicity, that makes it one of the 
most vivid and striking “hits” in modern literature. The handsome 
and true-hearted Philip Bough ton ; the veteran flirt, Blanche Delzile ; 
the weak, though good-in tentioned Clive Westerleigh ; the courtly Mar- 
quis de Creve-Courmont, the poet of the Rocky Mountains; and “That 
Girl of Mine,” with her whims and fancies, yet earnest love, make a 
whole which adds greatly to the reputation of the noted, but masked 
author of the book. “Good Society” in 'Washington is described in all 
its phases by one who is evidently familiar with the subject ; and when 
the reader finishes this charming book, the story of the final triumph 
of true love, he regrets that it is “all too short.” In spite of the thril- 
ling incidents that crop out through the story, a quiet tone of repose 
and culture is never lost. It is said that some of the characters in the 
tale are fac-similes of personages well known in Washington society, 
and indeed through the whole United States. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 

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By Author of “That Lass o’ Lowrie’s.” 




A 


LOVE 


STORY. 


BY MRS. FRANCES HODGSON 


,! nr 

'il L. 


IT. 


From tlie New York Evening Post. 

“It is with no little pleasure that we find ‘Theo,’ by Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, 
to be an artistic as well as a thoroughly charming little love story. It is a less elaborate 
story than ‘That Lass o’ Lowrie’s.’ and a much more transparent one in its plot; but in 
its skilful portrayal of character, its subtle analysis of the effect of surroundings upon 
human action and human character, its deft and delicate handling of deeply stirred and 
conflicting emotions, and especially in its singularly apt presentation of the innermost 
secrets of a young and lialf-unconsciously loving woman’s soul, the story is altogether 
worthy to rank with it, as a piece of genuinely artistic, although by no means faultless, 
fiction. Less elaborate and less ambitious than ‘ That Lass o’ Lowrie’s,’ it escapes the 
w r orst fault of that story ; in its end it leaves the reader with no uncomfortable feeling 
that the happiness secured is false and forced; there is no doubtful future left in ‘Then,* 
as there is in ‘That Lass o’ Lowrie’s’ for the reader to make himself uncomfortable about ; 
no essential inequality between hero and heroine to awaken fears of future misery to 
both ; no social gulf between them to bo bridged by an improbable assumption, lb© 
6tory, as we have said, is a charming one, and, although slight, is worth reading for its 
art, even without reference to its interest. It has also the advantage and the merit of 
naturalness, and its incidents are the fruits of character rather than the results of acci- 
dent — a thing wTiich more than anything else makes the difference between art and 
mere artisanship in story writiu '. Thera is much that is original as well as much that 
is fine in the contrasted portraits of Theo and Priscilla.” 

From tlie Boston Post. 

“It is a pleasure to once more inhalo the fragrance of a simple, but honest, healthy and 
clearly told romance. Mrs. Burnett’s ‘ Theo ’ is a direct natural and entertaining love 
story. The characters act just as we should suppose sensible, cultivated people of certa n 
peculiar experiences would act. The harmonies are well observed and there are no glaring 
inconsistencies to forgive. In this respect it possesses an unusual charm. '1 he reader is 
interested without being able to tell why. Yet, for all its simplicity and smoothness, 
there is not so much as the suggestion of dulness. The contrasts are strong without 
being forced, and the situations are dramatic without any apparent rehearsal therefor. 
‘Theo’ is one of the books that .should be bought and read, and another point in its favor 
is that in size and shape it is very convenient reading.” 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 

Above Booh is for sale by all Booksellers, or copies will be sent to 
any one, to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa# 


By Author of lr Theo,” & “That Lass o’ Lowrie’s.” 


PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON. 

A LOVE STORY. 

BY MBS. FBANCES HODGSON BUBNETT. 

Author of “Theo,” “That Lass o’ Lowrie’s, ” etc. 


This charming novel, “ Pretty Polly Pemberton,” deserves 
more than a passing notice. It calls itself " a love story,” and by this 
standard, and this only, therefore, should it be tried. Judged in that 
way, it is, like “ Theo,” as nearly perfect as possible. In the first place, 
it has that greatest artistic merit in a story, thorough unity ; not an inci- 
dent, not a character, hardly a sentence, could be struck out, without in- 
jury. Everything has a bearing on the denouement. There are no need- 
less episodes, no padding of any kind. How rare a merit this is can only 
be realized by examining critically the works even of the best novelists. 
In the next place, the characters are all natural, and consistent with 
themselves throughout. There are no impossible heroes, or heroines; 
nobody does anything exceptional, or improbable : yet the interest is 
always kept up, nay, increases with every chapter. This also is a rare 
excellence. In the last place, the heroine is charmingly fresh, original, 
womanly, and lovable. The hero, too, is capitally drawn. The touches, 
infinitely delicate, by which this London guardsman and “ swell ” is made 
to stand out on the canvas, deserve the highest praise. If the author, 
when she wrote this story, and so modestly claimed so little for it, was 
not aware of its real merits, then she literally did what few do— she 
“ builded better than she knew.” The volume is issued in uniform style 
with Mrs. Burnett’s “ Theo,” “ Bessie’s Six Lovers,” “ That Girl of Mine,” 
“ The Amours of Phillippe,” and with Mrs. South worth’s “ The Bed Hill 
Tragedy,” and it will have a large sale, and will be found for sale by all 
Booksellers and News Agents everywhere, and on all Bailroad Trains. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


Above Booh is for sale by all Booksellers, or copies will be sent to any 
one , to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting pHce to the publishers , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


( tl Combines more attractions than any other.” — Beaver (Pa.) Times. 


CHEAPEST AND BEST l^r 


PETERSON’S MAGAZINE 


FULL-SIZE PAPER PATTERNS I 


J8ST* A Supplement will be given in evei'y number for 1878, containing a full-size 
paper pattern for a lady's , or child's dress. Every subscriber will receive, during the 
year, twelve of these patterns, so that these alone will be worth more than the subscrip- 
tion price."^^. 


“PETERSON’S MAGAZINE” has the best Original Stories of any of the lady’s 
books, the best Colored Fashion Plates, the best Berlin Patterns, the Lest Receipts. 
Its principal illustrations are not cheap wood-cuts, as with others, but 



t?U 


Every family ought to take it. It gives more far the money than any in the world. 
It has long been celebrated for ita 


THRILLING TALES AND NOVELETTES 


It will contain, in 1878, Five Original Copyright Novelettes, by Mrs. Ann S. 
Stephens, Frank Lee Benedict, Mrs. F. Hodgson Burnett, as well as others of the best 
authors of America. Also, nearly a hundred shorter stories , all original. Ita superb 


Mammoth Colored Fashion Plates 


Are ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, twice the usual size, 
and are the very Latest Paris Stylf.s. 

N.B. — As the publisher now pre-pays the postage to all mail subscribers , “ Peterson ” 
is CHEAPER THAN EVER ; in fact IS THE CHEAPEST IN TnE WORLD. 


TERMS (Always in Advance) $2.00 A YEAR. 


1 



4 Copies for $6.80 

5 « 64 8.00 


©S for 83 60 f Wit h a c °py of the premium picture (24 x 20) 
44 4*80 1 “The Angels op Christmas, " a five dolla r engraving, 

to the person getting up the Club. 


12.00 -< and the premium picture, a five dollar engraving , 

16.00 ( to the person getting up the Club. 

Address, post-paid, 


{ 


^-Specimens sent gratis, if written for. 


CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

806 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 



AN ENTIRE NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION, 

Describing the Life of Woman in Five Pictures, from Original 
Drawings, by Edward L. Henry. 



■BEAUTIFUL SHOW, AND OTHER POEMS. By J. W. Watson, author of ‘‘The 

Outcast.” An Entire New Illustrated Edition, describing the life of Woman in Five 
lectures, from original designs drawn by Edward L. Henry. One volume, octavo, 
printed tinted plate paper, and bound in preen morocco cloth, with gilt top. gilt 
sides, and beveled boards, price Two Dollars; or bound in maroon morocco cloth, with 
full gilt sides, full gilt edges, full gilt back, and beveled boards, price Three Dollars. 


Above Book is for sale by all Booksellers , or copies will be sent to any 
one } to any place , at once , post-paid , on remitting price to the publishers y 

T. B. PETERSON' & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


JEST MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S NEW BOOE.“@a 




OB, THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF FLINT. 

BY MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 

Printed from Mrs. South worth's Manuscript, just written by her for this volume , and 
never before published in any form whatever. 

AND OTHER STORIES BY HER SISTER, 

MRS. FRANCES HENSHAW BADEN. 
Bound in Morocco Cloth, with Full Gilt Back. — Price $1.75. 


MRS. E. D. E. K. SOUTHWORTII’S COMPLETE WORKS. 

Complete in forty-three volumes , bound in morocco cloth, with a full gilt back, price 
SI .75 each ; or $75.25 a set , each set in a neat box. The following are their names : 

Tragic Bridals. Mother-in-Law ; or. Married in Haste. 

Ishmael ; or. In the Depths— being “ Self-Made.” 

Self-Raised ; or. Prom the Depths, sequel to “ Ishmael.” 


The Fatal Secret. 
Cruel as the Grave. 
Tried For Her Life. 
Fair Play. 

The Lost Heiress. 
How He Won Her. 
The Maiden Widow. 
Victor’s Triumph. 
The Family Doom. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 
The Bride’s Fate. 
Bride of Llewellyn. 
The Changed Brides. 
The Spectre Lover# 
Prince of Darkness. 
The Christmas Guest. 
Fallen Pride. 

The Fortune Seeker. 
Retribution. 

The Bridal Eve. 


The Fatal Marriage. 

Love’s Labor Won. 

The Deserted Wife. 

A hToble Lord. 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy. 

Lost Heir Linlithgow. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia; Secret of Power. 

The Artist’s Love. 

Allworth Abbey. 

The Two Sisters. 

Discarded Daughter. 

The Widow’s Son. 

Wife’s Victory. 

The Missing Bride. 

Lady of the Isle. 

The Haunted Homestead. 
The Curse of Clifton. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River. 
Mystery of Dark Hollow. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers, or copies will be sen t to 
any one, to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers , 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

300 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


SIX NEW AND POPULAR BOOKS 

JDST PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE BY 

T. 3. Peterson & Brothers. 


The following Books are all printed on tinted paper, and are ismed 
in uniform style , in square 12 mo. form. Price Fifty Cents each in Paper 
Cover, or One Foliar each in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. They 
are six of the best and most saleable Novels ever published, and they will be 
found for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents everywhere . 


THE RED HILL TRAGEDY. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth, 
author of “Ishmael,” “Self-Raised,” “ Mother-in- Law,” etc. Price Fifty 
Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances 
Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo,” “ That Lass o’ Lowrie’s,” etc. Price 
Fifty Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

THAT GIRL OF MINE. A Love Story. By one of our most popular 
authors. It is one of the most brilliant society novels ever issued, being 
a true story of Mabel’s flirtations during a winter passed by her in the 
best and most fashionable society in Washington city. Price Fifty Cents 
in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

“THEO.” A Love Story. By Mi's. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author 
of “ Pretty Polly Pemberton,” “ That Lass o’ Lowrie’s,” etc. The 
best, purest, and most charming love story issued for years. Price Fifty 
Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

BESSIE’S SIX LOVERS. A Charming Love Story, of the purest and 
best kind. Written by a Noted Author. Bessie, the heroine, is perfect. 
Price Fifty Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in cloth, black and gold. 

THE AMOURS OF PHILLIPPE- A History of “ Phillippe’s Love 
Affairs.” By Octave Feuillet. Translated from the French, complete 
and unabridged, by Mrs. Mary Neal Sherwood (a daughter of the late 
John Neal). Price Fifty Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco 
cloth, black and gold. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents every- 
where, or copies of any one or all of them will be sent to any one, to any 
place, at once , post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St,, Philadelphia, Pa. 


«rg" - MRS. SOUTH WORTH’S NEW BOOK.”®® 


SELF-MADE 

OR, OUT OF THE DEPTHS, 

Is now Complete in Book Form, in Two Volumes • Brice $1.75 each , or 
$3.50 a set, and is issued under the names of 

“ISHMAEL!” AND “SELF-RAISED.” 


MRS. E. D. E. X. SOUTHWORTH’S COMPLETE WORKS. 

Complete in forty-two volumes , bound in morocco cloth , with a full gilt back , price 
:$1 .75 each ; or $ 73.50 a set , each set in a neat box. The following are their names : 

Mrs. Southworth’s “ Mother-in-Law ; or. Married in Haste.” 
Ishmael ; or. In the Depths— being “ Self-Made.” 

Self-Raised ; or. From the Depths, sequel to “ Ishmael.” 


The Fatal Secret. 
Cruel as the Grave. 
Tried For Her Life. 
Fair Play. 

The Lost Heiress. 
How He Won Her. 
The Maiden Widow. 
Victor’s Triumph. 
The Family Doom. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 
The Bride’s Fate. 
Bride of Llewellyn. 
The Changed Brides. 
The Spectre Lover. 
Prince of Darkness. 
The Christmas Guest. 
Fallen Pride. 

The Fortune Seeker. 
Retribution. 

The Bridal Eve. 


The Fatal Marriage. 

Love’s Labor Won. 

The Deserted Wife. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy. 

Lost Heir Linlithgow. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia; Secret of Power. 

The Artist’s Love. 

Allworth Abbey. 

The Two Sisters. 

Discarded Daughter. 

The Widow’s Son. 

Wife’s Victory. 

The Missing Bride. 

Lady of the Isle. 

The Haunted Homestead. 
The Curse of Clifton. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River. 
Mystery of Dark Hollow. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers , or copies will be sent to 
any one, to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 


SIX NEW AND POPULAR BOOKS 

JDST PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE BY 

T. B. Peterson & Brothers. 


The following Books are all printed on tinted paper, and are issued 
in uniform style, in square 12 mo. form . Price Fifty Cents each in Paper 
Cover , or One Dollar each in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold . They 
are six of the best and most saleable Novels ever published, and they will be 
found for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents everywhere. 


THE RED HILL TRAGEDY. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth, 
author of “Ishmael,” “Self- Raised/’ “ Mother-in- Law/’ etc. Price Fifty 
Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances 
Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo,” “ That Lass o’ Lowrie’s,” etc. Price 
Fifty Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco cloth, *black and gold. 

THAT GIRL OF MINE. A Love Story. By one of our most popular 
authors. It is one of the most brilliant society novels ever issued, being 
a true story of Mabel’s flirtations during a winter passed by her in the 
best and most fashionable society in Washington city. Price Fifty Cents 
in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

“THEO.” A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author 
of “ Pretty Polly Pemberton,” “ That Lass o’ Lowrie’s,” etc. The 
best, purest, and most charming love story issued for years. Price Fifty 
Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

BESSIE’S SIX LOVERS. A Charming Love Story, of the purest and 
best kind. Written by a Noted Author. Bessie, the heroine, is perfect. 
Price Fifty Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in cloth, black and gold. 

THE AMOURS OF PHILLIPPE. A History of “ Phillippe’s Love 
Affairs.” By Octave Feuillet. Translated from the French, complete 
and unabridged, by Mrs. Mary Neal Sherwood (a daughter of the late 
John Neal). Price Fifty Cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in morocco 
cloth, black and gold. 


Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents every- 
where , or copies of any one or all of them will be sent to any one, to any 
place , at once , post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. 








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